Amethystine
by Zerepak
Summary: 04:48. Too damn early to even pretend to care about anything but his blistering palm. Too early to deal with any of this, especially a wretched child with thermoregulation issues. How, one might ask, did a prince end up permanent babysitter to a fire demon? Well, it goes a little something like this…
1. Folderol

Amethystine

 _Folderol_ _(n.): Trivial or nonsensical fuss._

* * *

"Loki!"

Weight sunk one side of his bed eliciting an intensely irritated groan as one whining, unwelcomed little girl clambered into his personal space. Dark air confronted his sight when he opened his tired eyes. Nothing else seemed to exist aside from his crippling need for sleep. And his freshly cleaned sheets were ever so inviting. So he did what any other teenager would in his position and rolled over.

But the thick down pillow couldn't muffle out her high-pitched whines.

Rather than acknowledge the annoyance, Loki tried to pretend he was sleeping for as long as possible until heat seeped through his blanket in the shape of a small hand, hissing and burning. Burning flesh smelled disturbingly similar to meat on a grill. First thoughts were of his wonderful smelling sheets, if he didn't end this nonsense soon he would have to have his linens washed. Again. Then he might be stuck those plebeian cashmere blankets. _Again_.

"Please help Loki." A squeaky little voice choked through pitiful tears, "It hurts."

Loki squeezed his eyes tightly, hoping she would disappear. The itch was back. He wanted to commit homicide. At this hour, who in their right mind could truly blame him?

Fed up with the pathetic, half scalded child disturbing his once peaceful slumber, Loki took a deep breath to keep from inhaling anymore of her toxic air and turned to the other side in one graceless movement as his feet tangled in the sheets, binding his legs together uncomfortably. It was impossibly dark, so he batted his hand around like a game of whack-a-mole until the hissing was replaced with a high pitched squeal. Loki retracted the hand instantly.

"Are you okay?"

Silence.

"Loki?"

Volla's arm, which hooked over the side of a pillow, burned the hell out of his hand. And her voice was anything but helpful as he nursed it. It was the exact opposite of helpful, actually. And by 'nursing' of course it meant sucking on the burned part of his thumb like an infant. At least the pain succeeded in waking him fully. He glanced around bleary eyed until he saw the time projected on the ceiling.

04:48.

Too early to even pretend he cared about anything but his blistering palm. Too early to deal with any of this, especially a wretched little girl with thermoregulation issues.

The tiny ball of sweat and pajamas scooted closer, encroaching on the space designated for peaceful sleep. Loki groaned and held his hands out to halt the invading force, careful not to mistakenly touch her skin again.

How, one might ask, did a prince end up permanent babysitter to a fire demon? Well, it goes a little something like this…

...

"Look at the eyes on _that_ one!"

A blonde boy snickered, jabbing his friend with an elbow as he lifted a broken panel of heavy mahogany. Two of the other boys, feeble as it may be, tried to hide their own wicked grins as they crowded the tiny opening like moths to lamplight.

The meaning of the word 'forbidden' was lost on Thor, Volstagg and Frandral.

Beyond the small opening were crystalline waters. They cascaded over iridescent tiles where they fell in a spiraling pattern until halted by a massive grated drain at the room's center. Bubbles and droplets skittered across the surface to escape the rush of water that materialized in the air above.

Ladies of every age and sort giggled and gossiped with one another about who did what after which festival and what the queen's latest hobby happened to be, all loud enough to drown out the muffled snickers from behind a pair of massive paneled doors.

A young girl with long, straight black hair sleek as oil strode from the back end of the misty setting and into view of the young delinquents.

" _Eww_!"

"Is _that_?"

"Of _course_ not!"

"I-I think it could be!"

Three bickered, pushing and scrambling in front of their peephole to get a better look.

The girl's posture suddenly jolted pin straight and turned her head slowly toward the culprits.

 _Caught_!

Frandral slapped the panel back into place and shuffled backwards on his hands and butt. Volstagg could probably say he was looking for a snack and got lost in the ladies bathhouse. It was the glutton's go-to excuse, and it would probably work.

Frandral had long plagued the fairer sex, even before he was old enough to speak. He would absolutely catch the blame for this little game even though it was _Thor's_ idea in the first place.

The blonde prince smiled devilishly at his skittish friends, almost condescendingly, but too lighthearted to be taken negatively.

That was always the way with Thor.

He lifted the panel and spied with one eye through the crack, tongue poking out from between his lips out of concentration, only to find their alarm unfounded. "Lady Sif was simply surprised by her friends." The others didn't understand how he could seem so utterly unfazed.

Volstagg grunted to hold in a yelp when Frandral climbed over his head, pushing it down with one hand as he eagerly peeped through.

Sif's back was now not only covered by a soft white towel but was also surrounded by a bouquet of friends, laughing about all kinds of lady-like things for sure.

"Who is that?" A soft voice asked from behind the trio. But no one paid the speaker any mind.

Normally Loki stayed away from their misadventures but ever since Thor began training, the younger prince rarely saw his brother. He was too young to join him at the arena, and he wasn't overly upset by that fact. The other boys were weary of bringing the youngster along, but Thor insisted. And one does not simply argue with Thor Odinson.

"Lady Sif?" Frandral said, answering Loki after a few moments. "She is one of the only girls in history to train for the army. Seems she has quite a fondness for our dear Thor."

Loki's eyes whipped to his brother's back so fast they pulled his head with them.

Thor ducked to hide the spreading blush across his cheeks. "Has not!"

"Has too!"

"Begging for a fight are you?"

The two boys argued back and forth while Loki tried not to get involved, feeling his own impatience toward the situation growing. Obviously he knew who Sif was. He was attempting to point out the foreigner who walked in circles just down the hall, casting a glance at them every few minutes. She appeared to be waiting for someone, pacing with nervous velocity.

Volstagg ignored the arguing boys and pulled a bag of red berries seemingly out of thin air and began munching without a care of the threats that flew over his head.

An ominous shadow crept over their huddled little selves and Loki paled. He would recognize _that_ shadow anywhere.

" ** _Princes_** **!** "

The deep, bellowing voice of a distraught middle-aged woman boomed through the hall, vibrating the air with its unfaltering command. "Such behavior is unbecoming of royalty and young gentlemen! Your father will be very disappointed in you."

Verdant eyes watched from the shade of dark lashes, first eyeing up his brother who stood up from his place next to the door defiantly and folded his arms as he stared up at the woman who dared lecture a future king. Loki glanced to the foreigner down the hall who tacitly observed the scene with newly inspired interest. She then began a slow amble in their direction.

Loki squirmed in his skin. To be scolded before a stranger was a mortifying prospect. He ducked back behind Thor, silently begging his big brother to just accept responsibility. The older boy faced the lady above them with a cheeky smirk.

She wore thick and scratchy sand colored skirts and a red shawl with intricate gold metal weaving along its trim in the shapes and shades of autumn that turned harsh with reds and orange when she was in the right light. Like right now as she began her tirade.

She was their nanny, Gefjune.

"…and as for you, Thor…"

A sinfully broad smile drew over Thor's lips, Gefjune's assault faltered briefly, perhaps not long enough for anyone else to notice, but Loki knew their battle was won. Gefjune could rave all day, but all Thor ever needed was a smile. It was every living person's kryptonite, even Loki's at times.

To his right, where their friends once were, was just empty space. They must have bolted when Thor's distracting smile gave them a chance. Loki used the back of his brother's deep red shirt wishing he'd done the same.

Gefjune went on, far more calmly, about how they lacked the morality of a king and how Asgard was in trouble if either took the throne.

"… You are to apologize to your mother at once—"

"Excuse me."

The interruption was deceivingly commanding as it was veiled with quiet demure. The foreigner did not have a deep tone, yet the words sounded heavy with an accent none had heard before. Her calm voice held enough gusto to halt Gefjune's chastising words mid speech. The larger, older woman turned slowly with reprimanding words hanging off of her tongue, finger held up in front for emphasis.

Large, koi fish scales shuttered and sparked with opaline light along the foreigner's jawline, up to the sides of exotic amethyst eyes. The scaled woman straightened. She was gilded in bright clothing of all colors; every which way the light struck caused the waves of fabric to ripple a new color. Fire seemed to explode sparks across the stitches. A hijab of the same fabric wrapped tightly over her head to hide her hair and ears, leaving only the face of a strange looking woman with serpentine eyes and long, thin lips that seemed to crease a little too far to the sides of her face, nearly hooking all the way up to her ears.

Broad Gefjune turned with an appraising eye. Thor and Loki both felt their bravery wane.

The younger woman bit the corner of her lip ("Were those fangs?" Thor hissed over his shoulder. Loki shrugged, wide eyed.). The woman's slit pupils dilated at their stares. Both boys took a cautious step back.

"I am to meet with Queen Frigga, her grace." She continued in her cumbersome accent. It sounded unnatural for her to speak English, like she had rocks or marbles in her cheeks that only let her speak through the very front of her lips. The way she pronounced 'with' sounded more like 'wheat' and 'excuse' was more like 'excooz'. Loki absently wondered what her native tongue might sound like.

A lilt of recognition bounced Gefjune's features from offended at the interruption to unadulterated exuberance. "Oh!"

The older woman bowed her head with rushed reverence, allowing Loki time to measure whether or not they had enough time to run away.

They didn't.

"Queen Saule! Of course!" Gefjune held her hand out to the side to introduce the boys, and to halt any intention of escape. She twitched her thick, sausagey fingers at the two boys, urging them closer to the terrifying stranger.

"These are Her Majesty's children." She introduced with a smile. "Thor," she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder. He smiled gallantly up at Saule who looked thoroughly unimpressed, if not somewhat disturbed. Gefjune nodded slowly with a withering smile and placed a finger to her lips to keep Thor from further compromising a very delicate situation.

"And Loki." Gefjune, maintained a large fake smile throughout the introduction. "They are this realm's, ehm," her face twisted into a fake smile, " _Exhilarating_ future." _Doomed_ was the first word that came to mind.

Saule shifted her weight, rotating a small gold package from one hip to the other, sizing the two boys up with deep-set eyes. Her brow ridge protruded significantly, causing her huge, round eyes to sink deeper into her skull.

Noting the anxious tightness of the motion, Loki tried to stand on his toes to look more closely at what she held, curiosity getting the better of him. Thor grabbed the back of his collar, wrenching him back. Queen Saule shot the boy a warning glance, narrowing those reptilian eyes sharply.

Loki stumbled backwards.

She had no eyelashes! Only black, snake like scales around the rims of her eyes. Saule's black eyebrows, which Loki also realized were simply darkened skin, lifted nervously. She shifted the bundle back to the other hip, then crouched to look into his eyes. Expression tight, movement slow and measured the whole way down.

"Hello Thor, Loki." She held out a surprisingly large hand, armored with a metal woven glove, to Loki intimidatingly. But he was busy trying not to laugh at how she said 'hall-oo'.

Thor snatched at the hand first, his lurching arm smushed across Loki's face. He side-glared at his overzealous brother.

Lady Saule maintained her appearance of indifference though she found the way the two brothers interacted entertaining. She noted how impossibly blue Thor's eyes were under the squint of a true smile. The fade of freckles dashed over the bridge of his nose leaving a mischievous little prints across his face. Her critical gaze turned when the smaller brother shoved Thor away.

She gave the younger boy her hand and he took it with a gentler grip than his brother and shook it properly without once looking up at her eyes. Instead his downcast eyes fixated on the glove she wore. Saule wondered what could possibly interest him more than the face of a Muspelheim dragon.

Then, _pain_.

It shot through every muscle fiber. Wrist, forearm, and elbow, then through the deep inner shoulder, it was unceasing. Hot lightning traced up blindingly white until it danced over the nerves of her scalp, freezing the small muscles of her face, rippling painfully, undulating beneath the surface.

Saule ripped her hand from the little boy's grasp and a dull look overcame her, nearly toppling to the ground before catching herself on Gefjune's wrist. The typically rock solid nanny seemed at a loss for words gaping like a fish as she saved the foreigner from collapsing like a pyramid of marbles.

The glove on Saule's hand slipped down a few millimeters; just enough to see tough, white scales lining her wrist. The scales were so clear and shiny, like oil over a puddle after a sun shower. Loki needed to touch them.

Loki fell hard on his backside and scrambled back until he hit his brother's shins. The accusing gaze of Gefjune was enough to make Loki want to hide forever. The searing pain on the snake-lady's expression made his heart ache.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" He apologized repeatedly. But Gefjune was already leading her away. Queen Saule's head turned over her shoulder. This wide, horrified expression jostled with each step she took. Loki felt terrible. He never had a knack for making a good first impression. Not like his brother.

Loki was the kind of person to grow on you over time, like moss. Or like fungus. Watching Saule's fiery skirt flutter into the closing door of the other room made, feeling Thor's disapproving eyes on the back of his head, Loki feel like a parasitic blight on the tree of Yggdrasil.

...

Bustling tan gowns and fluttering medical magic filled the room that once contained King Buri's endless trunks. Dusty cabinets, trunks and papers were replaced with a crib, changing table and a vanity. Each was a shade of the abandoned infant's violet eyes. This little room needed to be perfect. It was Odin's only rule that the girl stay hidden until she could prove herself harmless.

The hustle and bustle of maids flurried out the door until all that remained was the quiet, soft breathing of a newborn baby. Alone with her at long last, Frigga held the small dragon close. Her bright, striated violet eyes were wide and probing as though she comprehended everything that transpired.

Frigga rocked back and forth, gently swaying to keep the baby calm. Heat seeped through the white blanket swaddled around her until the temperature grew prickly against the queen's forearms. Frigga's first instinct was to cool her. She opened the blanket and blew cool air on her head.

Garbled cries, louder than a screaming banshee, wracked from the little thing, piercing the walls, and the queen's skull. Frigga sighed at her silliness.

Her name was Volla, and she was the last prophetess of Muspelheim. Of course she would be too warm by Asgardian standards. Frigga pressed a gloved thumb to the infant's wrinkled brow. She gave out weak, strangled cries. This was good news. The poor little thing was lethargic and grey when she arrived at their gates. Being a half breed, Muspel dragon and Asgardian, the air in her mother's realm was toxic for her.

A few shushes and a freshly warmed bottle and the little thing calmed right down.

What would she tell her sons? As per Odin's newly established agreement, Frigga conceded that Volla should be raised separately so the boys would be safe from the dangerous seven pound squirming monster. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't introduce them when the time was right.

 _…_

"… As the universe divided into the nine realms, the great Tree of Life uncovered a creature latched to its roots. Yggdrasil sprouted a new branch, shooting and whipping about violently until furling tightly around the leg of the retreating dragon. The monster unfurled his great fiery wings, released his obsidian teeth from the tree's body. In one mighty breath, legendary Níðhöggr ignited the Midgardian sun. The explosion of fire sparked the overlay of darkness. This new branch birthed Muspelheim. As punishment to Níðhöggr, Muspelheim was born without its key life source."

The auburn queen looked to her little son with a waning smile, turning the page again quickly. He squirmed excitedly as Frigga told this particular story in her own words, lowering the book slightly to her lap to steal Loki's attention away from the false writings. Odin liked to rewrite history however he liked. Frigga would not lie to her boys any more than she already had to.

Green eyes leaped to hers as she spoke. She smoothed a thumb over the soft curve of his cheek. "You see, Loki, Muspelheim's atmosphere is not made up of oxygen like ours. Dragons use oxygen to ignite their flames, but their race was punished for the first born dragon's foolishness. Somehow they managed, through many, many millennia, to steal the element from other realms." A pause. Frigga smiled slowly. It was hard to keep from kissing her boy when he looked at her like that. She explained further, "This way they can expel the accumulation of toxic gasses in their bodies by igniting their brilliant fires. This deadly mechanism of survival is exactly why you will never see a dragon in Asgard."

Thor, on the floor, snickered at the word 'gasses'. The queen shot him a look. He bit his lips together with a smile, but his shoulders shook laughingly as he turned his back and dropped to the floor, butt first, playing with wooden soldiers to willfully ignore their history lesson. Little boys are such a tough crowd.

Frigga knew better than to try and force Thor to learn, she was better off teaching a bowl of soup to do the can-can.

From the corner of her eye, Frigga noticed the way Loki's eyes darted from her face to the book in her hands. He liked to feign illiteracy so she would read to him at night. It was poor form to encourage such deceitfulness, but what harm would it do? Odin felt she doted on them and that it would lead to an "unhealthy attachment" as he called it. She liked to call it "being a good mother."

She smiled at her little boy, smoothing fingers over his rounded cherub cheek. Large green eyes blinked up at her with the unmistakable expression of innocent adoration. Impatience glittered in his gaze, easily mistaken as humor, but mothers always know the slim variations in their children's most minute features.

Frigga continued the story. Her voice careful, billowing, and as whimsical as an actor in a stage performance. "Centuries passed and the race of dragons infiltrated not only Asgard, Alfheim and Vanaheim, but also the defenseless Midgard." Frigga smoothed back the unruly black curls on her younger son's head as his eyes widened, excited and enthralled. Smiling at the child in the crook of her arm. Frigga mused at her luck. Blessed with two perfect sons so close in age. And yet, it would be an undertaking to find two more unalike.

Her little rogue was Loki. He was smaller than Thor at the same age, but, he reached his developmental milestones far more rapidly. He had been reading on his own for years now, while Thor still struggled with pronunciations much of the time.

Thor was simpler to occupy. He enjoyed his little spot on the floor, playing with his toys, bothering no one. Frigga realized the particular toys he currently employed were marked with green stickers. Frigga felt her face drop like a cannonball, a weary smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

 _Oh, the horror!_

Thor cut the bindings of Loki's favorite book with a knife Odin gave him, Frigga would be sure to confiscate it later and remind his father that he was still just a boy. No weapons were allowed until puberty.

Before Loki could throw a fit of gargantuan proportions, Frigga rushed back into the story with artful inconspicuousness. "This new realm was called Muspelheim— home to monstrous dragons and fire demons!" Frigga watched with a knot in her stomach as Loki's wandering eyes flicked toward his brother then back to the book without noticing the damage.

Phew. Crisis averted.

"Deep in the throws of war, Asgard pushed them back to their own realm." She turned the brittle page gingerly as not to damage something so ancient. Loki almost turned his head toward Thor who was now whining about being bored with books and 'useless knowledge'.

Frigga jostled Loki slightly to regain his attention, shooting the elder a look. He stopped instantly with a sheepish grin that fell into a pout when she looked away, thinking she could no longer see. Keeping both entertained was like herding cats.

"In order to keep some of their strength, the monsters stole something Asgard could never hope to reclaim. Not without initiating yet another great war." A ringlet of curly auburn hair bounced over one of the queen's eyes as she turned the page, tickling her cheek before she could brush it away.

On the floor, Thor was impatiently pulling Loki's foot hard enough to make Loki sink through the crook of Frigga's arm like a yolk through a cracked shell. Tolerant little Loki expertly ignored his brother and resituated himself by using Thor's face as a stepping stool and pressing elbows into Frigga's hip and forearm. Fixated on the cover of the book Loki first scrunched his face with consternation, then looked up at his mother with round green orbs full of wonder. Her heart melted and her look of alarm melded into a smile.

He had these eyebrows which lent him an expression of perpetual concern that seemed eager to display itself as he fidgeted a under her arm to look up at her with small lines crinkling his pale forehead. "What did the dragon steal?" He asked.

Frigga's smile wavered.

She never had this kind of dialogue with Thor at this age. He had been far more interested in wrestling and making friends. He was the son that Odin couldn't help but adore.

Loki worried his father desperately. But Frigga knew better than to worry about the little boy. Loki; he was a finer, more reclusive sort. He cared too much of what others might think if they learned of his affinity toward magic. Magic is considered a woman's proclivity in Asgard. So, instead he preferred to surround himself with _things_ of value rather than _people_ of value. Mostly he hoarded his books and chemistry sets to feed an insatiable hunger for knowledge. A natural Philomath.

Behind the collected, wise façade of her poker face was a mad house. She tried to conjure just the right way to word her answer. Frigga always tried to blur the line between the truth and Odin's revisionist history. Many times this caused a recoil that the wisest queens would wish to avoid. But not Frigga. Frigga actively sought confrontation in her marriage. Intellectual debate is the spice of life, after all.

Her mind spun wildly as Loki searched her expression for an answer.

It was not fair to say the Lord of Dragons had stolen Aušrinė. Níðhöggr could be a highly reasonable creature. He was calculating and logical to a fault. And yet, even as he battled his race's obliteration in four other realms, he chose to take Aušrinė back to Muspelheim. The prophetess had gone unwillingly, according to historical records. The Asgardian woman was even fabled to have produced a child with the Lord of Fire.

Frigga certainly did not want to delve into the strangeness of love with her son who was still too small to swing a sword.

An easy smile pulled at her lips. She admired her inquisitive little boy as she recounted history resolutely the way she recollected the event without breaking her husband's rules.

"He stole Asgard's sight."

…

Like her younger son, the obsession started when Volla was very, very small. Still small enough to fit in the crook of Frigga's elbow. Each day she brought Volla stories, ones Thor unsuccessfully used to bludgeon his brother (because who needs literature, right?) and others that Loki already finished. Many were fiction, fairy tales, things that Loki had long outgrown.

Then, after some time, Volla began reading to Frigga.

Why _did_ Hook try to kill Peter Pan? Was Peter Pan the angel of death? How could a prince really fall in love with a princess so fast? Did they ultimately get divorced? Were they allowed? Why did the prince have to slay the dragon? Was the creature was acting on instinct?

Volla one day received something Frigga never thought she could, or _would_ , read. The book that started it all was "The Prince" by Machiavelli.

From there, Volla's questions grew in depth and persistence. How _should_ a prince act? Who decides what is 'right' or 'wrong'? What happens if your opinion of 'right' differs from everyone else's? Does that make you a bad ruler? A bad person? Does it make you evil? What is evil? Is there such thing as free will? If so, why can't I go outside and play in the sun with the other little girls?

Volla hungered for these types of introspective stories and Frigga was forced to find them to keep her satiated in her tower above the courtyard.

Books that Midgardians saw as fiction, but were just thinly veiled stories of revolution got Volla thinking. She enjoyed that— thinking. Stories like "Uncle Tom's Cabin" or textbooks about Midgardian culture, particularly the cruelties committed against their own people. Etic anthropological studies, mostly.

She found historical records of war intriguing. Then, when those books were worn and falling apart, her obsession moved on to the ancient practice of Suttee, or, the propensity of widows to throw themselves on their husbands' funeral pyres. These were the stories she devoured with her eyes, morbid as they were. There were days when she would read in her garden window from the moment she woke until the second her eyes drooped closed, taking in as much information as possible. Without real interactions, she was forced to learn how one was meant to act through books.

One day, while reading, she slunk to the floor, curling in on herself then passed out. Her skin boiled into shiny white blisters that burst with steam once they grew too large.

The smell that filled the tower was what made the queen panic. It was an inorganic scent, like a chemistry experiment gone terribly wrong. After scrambling up the stairs, Frigga managed to cool the little child enough before she could run to the Healing Room and drop her in an ice bath. Volla was quartered off in the intensive care section of the healing ward for over a month.

Attacks like these happened infrequently in the beginning, once per year at most.

But as time swept by Volla grew and these attacks increased in frequency and intensity, taking her like demons flooding her veins, thrashing and burning their way through blistered flesh and blackened marks about her entire body. At times, it would burn the honey colored waves clear off of her head.

Each attack was punctuated by numinous visions. At first they were superficial and vague, but as the pain increased, so did the clarity. Soon they were images of future events that no one had any business knowing. It seemed that the more she divined, the more painful visions she had to endure.

It was Frigga who realized what was causing the visions to occur. It was her skin. She tried her best to protect the little girl from Odin. But she could only do so much. He would have her brought to the throne room each morning to test her. Each time her fits grew worse, her visions more clear.

Frigga realized this was far beyond her control. She could not let Volla continue screaming her visions aloud, though Odin compelled her to do so. It could jeopardize family secrets. Instead, the queen asked her to try and take hold of the visions, to write them down so they could go through them together and try to keep them in order.

Molten lava surged through her skull, wrapping and suctioning around her brain until encased in a hard shell of searing rock. The rock, as hot as it was, condensed and cracked about her mind shattering it into endless fractals of images. Images of so many things she could hardly keep up with them. They flashed behind her eyes bitingly fast, tearing at her optic nerve with their edges with unrelenting violence only matched by the visuals.

Fire exploded into a vast black void, ripping over Asgard and all other realms, black and crumbling like burning pastries falling in on themselves. Another cutting image showed two young men fighting each other; one falls to his demise. Thousands of others followed, each more painful and disturbing than the last. She tried to keep up, to keep from saying every word aloud like Frigga told her not to, but to keep the images inside was too hard. Her hand scribbled pictures and words in a schizophrenic mess across her journal as she attempted to keep up with the onslaught of visions.

When the images stopped, Volla dropped to her knees. Then pitched face first into the hard tile floor. Frigga rushed to her.

All of this appeared just because King Odin touched her hand.

Volla tried to retain some shred of composure as sweat slugged down her temple until it caught in her mussed curls. Her grip on consciousness was failing. It put up a good fight but the little girl was worn and exhausted. Blackness overcame her, then she was suddenly sleeping. Frigga was exhausted. She used an unbelievable amount of magic and medical attention to keep Volla from dying each day. It was growing out of hand. Volla's little half-Asgardian body was not meant to sustain toxic Muspel blood. Frigga knew there was one, very simple way to cool the burn and lower her body temperature, though she was sure her son would not like it.

…

Artificial light glowed pink through Volla's eyelids. The pain in her head was so much, especially under such harsh lighting. Horrible scenes danced demonically through her mind. These prophesies were all far too much to expect from a little girl who ought to be playing with dolls, not foreseeing the violent end of all things.

Arctic ice flooded her boiling blood. It was sweet relief. Violet eyes lurched open only to squeeze shut immediately. The light was too much. Volla only caught a glimpse of what loomed above, but she was sure it was a hallucination.

Volla had seen him from time to time through her window.

Ice cold air prickled her skin. It just was enough to make her shiver. One eye opened just a slit so Loki wouldn't see her looking at him.

He noticed. He grimaced.

"From this day forward you will watch after her. I can only do so much to ease the burns. You have such an aptitude with this magic." Volla could hear Frigga speaking softly, in her most boastful way.

Small heart racing, Volla unabashedly stared at the pair of spindly hands floating over her. The pair of them were the size of her whole torso, she felt incredibly small and vulnerable.

Loki's gaze dropped to Volla. Her eyes filled with excitement and wonder, his with bored reluctance and instant loathing.

Frigga watched the small, concerning interaction. What would she do if this failed? What if Loki lost his temper? He had very little experience with children. What if he grew inattentive, what if Volla became afflicted and— _No!_ Frigga refused to think of Loki as inattentive. He was always quite the opposite.

The queen saw the twinkle in Volla's eye; she knew the little girl would follow Loki around like a shadow whether he liked it or not. He would have no choice but to pay attention to her, however reluctantly. But, desperate times had come to desperate measures.

* * *

 _A/N: Heyo, I hope you guys dig my story. Yes, Volla will grow up, and soon. I promise, and it'll be fabulous when she does. Please review! I'm always so nervous posting new things and reviews usually inspire me to keep going. This whole story is already written, I just have to edit and post. Thanks for the read, I hope you enjoy the ride!_


	2. Macha

Amethystine

 _Macha (n.):_

 _The Irish goddess associated with war, horses, prophesy and sovereignty._

* * *

"Calm your self _PITA._ "

Volla pouted. Her latest nickname stood for "Pain In The Ass". It seemed to stick far better than the others, mostly because Frigga couldn't figure out what this new acronym meant. But when that blissful arctic chill rolled over her flesh she lost all sense of dejection. A bluish glow cast away some of the darkness, illuminating Loki's barely conscious face. The light cast deep purple shadows over moon pale skin under dull green, half-hooded eyes.

This was not the first time this week she had woken him at such an ungodly hour. Volla felt her body begin to cool and she thanked Loki miserably, apologizing profusely for waking him for the fifth time that week.

Gangly legs swung over the side of the bed and she started to run back to her room. Until, of course, slamming face first into a hard barrier, knocking her flat on her butt. A bright green silhouette shimmered away from where her face smooshed against the hard, invisible surface. Volla glared through the darkness at the prince over her shoulder.

Loki could barely contain his excitement; this was his very first force field. And, _oh_ , how well timed it was. "Oh no. Not tonight. We are no longer playing this little game. Though I'm sure we will both miss it _terribly_." Loki said to Volla, voice dripping with distain for his little ward. The violet-eyed girl pouted defiantly and folded her arms, she wanted to go write in her journal! He ignored her huff of disapproval and bundled himself under blankets, still burning hot from Volla's little coup de chaleur.

When he didn't feel the little weight fall into the side of his bed Loki groaned deeply and reiterated his meaning, this time leaving no room for misinterpretation: " _Go. To. Sleep_."

Volla wasn't sure what to say, or do, so she curled herself up against the barrier. But soon the heat returned with a vengeance as pain seeped through her muscles, bubbling new blisters and burns to the surface of her skin.

Another frustrated growl vibrated through the air. Loki thrashed about, throwing the blanket off and slapped a hand to Volla's back, picking her up by her pajamas and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced a few times and stared at Loki's ominous shadow that appeared even in pure darkness as he loomed over her. The cooling effect of his presence was instantaneous when he pushed her over to the other side of the bed, bundling her in a blanket to mute the burning scent.

Quickly thereafter she fell into deep sleep, unlike her bedmate.

At 04:59 Loki continued to glare up at the ceiling, still contemplating homicide.

Loki was tired of taking orders from a _child_. The damn girl was, quite literally, half of his size. And she was horribly needy. _So what_ if she was entirely dependent on him for survival? It wasn't _his_ fault she was born defective. Nature by no means wanted her to live, and that was _not_ his problem.

Volla's 'attacks' were becoming more frequent and rapidly peaked to dangerous levels, sometimes before Frigga could find him. Then the little thing had to live in the burn unit until her seared flesh healed. To avoid becoming the reason she died, he began checking in on her on the hour, every hour.

Instead of falling back asleep like he so desperately wanted, Loki ended up staying awake for much of the early morning, not taking his hand from Volla's little back for even a moment.

...

"Are Midgardians happy?" Volla asked absently as she filed her nails until they were perfectly rounded edges; one of her many time-consuming habits.

Deep honey waves fell in a tumbling mess to the side in a braid. Without hearing an immediate answer from her personal Friggapedia, the girl sighed audibly and heavily then turned back to _Sense and Sensibility_ , dropping the metal file by the wayside as her neck crooked at a disturbing angle against the window frame. A look of frustration was set firmly on her face. She had so many thoughts constantly floating through her mind that she would sometimes write them down to keep track alongside her prophesies. Some of the words that showed up in her notes were somewhat… disturbing.

Frigga smiled wearily as she eyed the book in the girl's hands to measure the danger of answering the question. Sometimes answering Volla was like opening Pandora's Box. Actually, something about Pandora was oddly metaphorical for Volla's persona.

Luckily, _Sense and Sensibility_ was not a particularly revolutionary tale so she felt safe enough answering the little blonde's question, if only to make her stop moping. "I'm not entirely sure, dear. Eons have come and gone since I last visited Midgard."

Volla then jumped off the ledge of her perch and slunk to the ground with a dangerous little grin. She had Frigga right where she wanted her. Holding _Sense and Sensibility_ was a front.

Biting back a worn smile, Frigga watched Volla stumble to the side, windmilling her arms to catch her teetering balance before trotting to the pile of books next to her closet to toss through the pile for something specific. Volla was bright and kind as any young lady, but she was about as graceful as a potato as she grew into pre-pubescence.

"Did you know, some women are not allowed to choose their husbands in Midgard?" Volla began, tricking the queen into a conversation that she _really_ did not want to have. Frigga tried not to look defeated. She had already raised a child with manipulative tendencies, and she was _not_ about to let another get away with it.

Volla pushed on persistently, "They choose their children's fate throughout their entire lives, even before they are born in some Midgardian cultures." Volla watched the queen from the corner of her eye as she dug through the pile of books for a particular item, hoping to spot some kind of reaction.

The queen of Asgard was incredibly talented; she could express so much with just her face. The height of her eyebrow was directly proportional to how far you crossed the line. This time it left Volla disappointed.

With a somewhat bored expression and a teetering stance Volla could tell there was nothing Frigga would rather do than leave her company that very instant. Perhaps she was bothering the queen with her endless query? Or perhaps there were better things to do beyond these four walls than sit and talk philosophy with a little girl. That was certainly it. Sad loneliness pitted a cold knot in her chest.

Centuries of loneliness left her desperate for affection. She found herself craving interactions aside from the conversations she had with herself in her head or the absent (sometimes outright _mean_ ) words spoken by Loki. They grew dull as she got older, realizing how utterly insane she seemed having full on point-and-counterpoint arguments with herself on social issues. It was better to hear actual retorts and arguments from people who saw things from another perspective. Volla knew the names and opinions of each and every maid that had ever tended to her.

She was segregated from the general population on Odin's orders. Though she had met many others, she was allowed to go to Loki, Frigga, or Gefjune's rooms regularly without an escort. Odin feared someone stealing her away. Volla never needed to wonder why. It was obvious what an asset she would become once her visions became more controlled. He worried that his people might mistrust him for taking a Muspel into his home, and he also feared someone might take her away. It was easy to see why Volla didn't particularly like Odin. He was not a very warm person, to put it lightly. He was incredibly clinical in their interactions, as if she was just an experimental rat to be used and disposed of once she did her duty.

There was only one person she felt close to, and she was sitting right there; bracing herself for Volla's interrogation.

Blue bruised and torn leather shuffled into view under a few heavy books. Volla smirked with satisfaction and her discordant thoughts melted away. _Ahh, there it is_.

 _Frankenstein_ felt light compared to the silly love story she just chucked over her left shoulder. It made a heavy _thunk_ against the wall by her bed next to the window banquette. After centuries of reading love stories about knights and princes who save the girl from the tower, she knew better than to dream of something so absurd. There was no prince charming. There was no white knight. There was no escape from this tower, or in Volla's case: a lavish room positioned just above the courtyard before the Great Hall's entrance. The only way she left her cage was to try her hand at divination, or to keep from dying by annoying Loki or Frigga. Noble as her attempts were, Odin was left perpetually disappointed after their meetings.

Odin thought Volla a failure compared to her grandmother. She hid her depression from the inquiring ears of Frigga and Gefjune deftly, never speaking her feelings aloud. Instead her journal became the crypt of her deepest thoughts and desires. It was a known fact that Odin used the all-knowing, all-seeing Gatekeeper as Asgard's warden to observe her every move. Frigga told her so as a little girl. Luckily Heimdal either didn't see, or didn't mind the defiant words written in the deep of night when there was nothing but the compositions of crickets to guide her thoughts and writings.

Frigga was concerned at the sneaky way she tried to hide her rebellious thoughts. It was one thing to express one's fears outwardly, it was something else entirely to hide them, allow them to simmer at a low boil until dense and hard and ready to become dangerous in the hands of someone who might actually rebel. Which was why Frigga did her best to listen to the exhausting youth no matter how extensive her questioning became.

Volla held up the turquoise book, running her perfectly trimmed nails along the frayed edges and narrated her thoughts, "This author writes that humans are born barbaric, but others say that they are born good and the way they're raised ruined them." She paused to check Frigga's expression, the auburn queen was affected by her explanation. She continued undeterred, "I don't think anyone is born bad. I think some just want to control others and use their 'nature' as an excuse to do what they like without being forced to reflect on their cruelties." She looked over her shoulder again to the queen who sat at the vanity sewing something, not at all paying attention. Volla's face, and heart, dropped.

It took her days to come up with that theory but only a second's hesitation from the queen to crumble it. In that instant she found her thoughts becoming clipped and confused, was she wrong? Was there some study or research hat had debunked one of her philosophies?

Frigga's hand jumped away from the point of her needle with a self-depreciating sigh. Without looking from her work she commented thoughtfully, "Their intention may not be to control one another, but rather to keep them safe. Humans live notoriously brief lives. Survival is made difficult for their race by illness and war."

It was a relief to know the Queen listened to and considered her theory, if no one could hear her thoughts and opinions then the notebook beside her bed would soon overflow with observations. Frigga always warned her that her theories 'did not matter, not in Asgard.' The careful way she worded her answer sparked Volla's intense obsession with Midgard. She wanted to go there to study the humans and live the way they did. Something about their autonomy was appealing.

Frigga's squared chin was set uneasily, not quivering or moving too overtly at the familiar feeling of exposure under Volla's unbroken gaze. Volla's eyes had this way of penetrating their victim in a way that made them feel raw. It was as though the very fiber of your being was on display for her to pick apart and dissect until there were no secrets left to be had. It was incredibly unnerving.

"Is safety more important than sovereignty?" Volla asked after a long pause in a low voice, not looking up at Frigga. The words seemed to echo endlessly inside of her head, but it was more likely the tall hollow ceilings in her bedroom. These words had been simmering under her skin for nearly a century. It was never a secret how badly Volla wanted to escape, just to run or jump or do anything aside from watch other children her own age play in the courtyard from her window.

It _was_ a secret that Volla believed Asgard to be nothing more than a giant cage to which only Odin has the key. The key was Heimdal. Fear was the ever-present bars of their eternal prison.

Frigga's eyes grew large at the question. It was plain to see what she intended with the question. The little thing was chained and locked away like some enemy, of course she would crave freedom. She wasn't sure what to tell the young girl staring at her with violet eyes. She wanted to explain why Odin needed her to stay safe, but she could also see Volla's point. She was a living thing, not an object. She had needs, emotional needs, ones that couldn't be fulfilled by living each day in a tower. She was an energetic little girl and she needed to run and play with children her own age or she would grow even more resentful of her king. An idea came to mind, but she would have to pass it by Odin before she could act on it.

Tossing the book back on the pile, the Volla stood, pirouetting on thin, sticklike legs to face Frigga's disapproving eyes, set lips and hard immobile jaw. She was ready for whatever reprimand she was about to receive. Volla's mousy blonde braid smacked her in the face. Frigga's reluctant smile fell to hide her humor.

Sweat beaded over Volla's hairline, glistening in the orange light of sundown before falling in short trickling streams down her face causing her already wild hair to raise from the sudden humidity. She gulped hard as the queen's expression changed, her own fear blossomed as she began feeling warm.

No, not just warm. Volla's blood felt hot, far _too_ hot. She needed help. _Now_.

Volla wobbled as a wave of lethargy fell over her shoulders, settling in her thighs. Her knees nearly gave out but caught herself on the corner of her armoire as it overlooked the scene. Violet eyes dropped half-mast, she was losing the fight against the dark caress of unconsciousness. Her face rushed red from chin to forehead spottily. Breaths came hard as she realized she needed Frigga's help. She reached out as if to grip a wall, plodding gracelessly to the side but remained standing.

Her skull struck the ground with a small bounce before settling against the cool grey tile, which felt crisp and cool on her burning hot skin. Frigga was by her side instantly chanting calming words that sounded as if they were spoken through water. The queen called for the guards.

Volla began tearing at the high collar of her dress with a suffering whine as the fever pitched, drenching her in sweat which made her feel hot and cold at the same time. It felt as if the skin was going to boil loose of her muscle and leave her poached remains there on the ground.

Thousands of images followed, each more painful and disturbing than the last. She tried to keep up, to keep from saying every word aloud like Frigga told her, but to keep the images inside was too hard. They burst forth from her as if she'd been holding them in her whole life and only now could they burn her skin and set themselves free. When the images stopped, Volla dropped to her knees and pitched to the floor. Volla's breath puffed little clouds of steam against the tiles from her small, thin lips, leaving a deeper trail where the granite tarnished brown then black, scorched, before her mind fell into blissful oblivion.

...

"Midgardians must have such exciting lives." Volla mused as if thinking aloud. She kicked her legs over the edge of Loki's veranda, throwing rocks at passers by. They would blame Loki, but it was their own fault for walking past the Trickster's balcony. Her thin lips tightened at the resounding silence she received in response. So she sighed heavily and tried again, "I mean, their lives are so limited; barely a blink in time if you stop to think about it; almost exciting in their brevity. I think I'd like to visit Midgard one day." Volla looked over her shoulder to see Loki not even pretending to listen, mulling over a massive textbook written in a language she couldn't begin to understand. After her last 'attack' Frigga required for Volla to spend virtually every waking moment with Loki. He was not nearly as forgiving of Volla's questions as his mother. In fact, Volla was sure he hated her for her inquisitive nature. She frowned, crestfallen once more, and asked, "Have you ever been there? To Midgard?"

Loki answered monotonously, concentrating on something between his hands on the bronze tiled floor. "Yes many times. Humans are a pathetic sort. Disillusion yourself of the exciting lives you envision."

The purple eyed girl fixated on Loki with a small frown. When Volla had reached the end of early adolescence, leaving behind her days of clear skin and immaturity for sad attempts at being adult with uncoordinated legs and a soft, under exerted body.

Volla was unimpressed with Loki's dull comment. She read everything there was to know about Midgardians and their lives. They were really something else. They had intricate family organizations called villages, or sometimes, if they were large and complex enough, they were called countries. Each so-called country lived under entirely different organizational sects. Then, if plebeian humans did not like their government they were all equal enough in physical strength to overthrow their rulers and begin anew. They had stories of wars that lasted centuries and tales of love that lasted mere moments and imagined exaggerated tales of creatures they had no business knowing about. If Loki was telling the truth, surely there was more to say about these 'pathetic' creatures than he let on.

"What did you do there?" She prodded, looking back to the fading sunlight across the seemingly endless ocean. Brilliant crystalline gold buildings stood a bold colonnade facing the tide. A blonde man was walking below, trailing behind his squadron. Volla tossed a rock at his head but it bounced off without seeming to hit him. Volla leaned her head against the balustrade with another deep frown, letting the marble dig into her forehead. How was she supposed to take her misery out on other people if they didn't even notice when she threw rocks at their heads? The blonde man turned slightly and looked up at her. She curled her legs behind the column and hid, peeking her eyes out to see if he noticed. Her heart thumped once, hard. He was _stunning_! Even the look of confusion was attractive as his cobalt blue eyes searched the columns for her. If she wasn't sure she was making it up, she might have seen a hint of disappointment in his eye as he continued his march to catch up with the platoon he'd been walking with.

Volla watched the broad warrior go and Loki was silent for a while, still fixated on whatever he was doing.

He really wished she would quit bothering him. This was a matter of life and death! He had to show up Amora. Men of distinction, ones with power beyond comprehension, they were the only kind to impress _her_. Whenever that high-pitched voice pierced his concentration it set him back another few minutes. Minutes he did not have to spare before class. Maddening as it was, if he didn't yield every once in a while she would continue pestering him about every trivial matter that came to mind until he cracked and lost all of his progress.

Distractedly, he finally answered a vague: "It depends."

Reticence fell over the Volla like a heavy wool blanket, too warm and a little irritating. Volla was beginning to wonder if she was better off just staying in her room rather than waste her time trying to converse with such an unwilling participant. There were a few books she wanted to get through before the week ended…

"You read too many fantasy novels." He accused after a few more minutes doused in silence, smirking at whatever was happening in the green glow of his hands.

Volla ignored his disinterested tone, knowing he intended to make her upset. It was his favorite way of handling their arrangement. He knew exactly what buttons to push and when.

But, Volla knew the same strategy, "I read whatever _your_ _mother_ brings. _She_ must find Midgard worth her attention."

Loki narrowed his eyes and tried not to look at the girl. Volla smiled victoriously, but muted it by biting her lip when her green-eyed captor said condescendingly, "Any connection between your reality and my mother's is purely coincidental."

Volla stared at him a moment as something solid appeared in his hands. It vanished almost instantly.

Violet eyes widened, entirely amazed by what took place under her watch. "What was _that_?"

Loki looked up with arrogant triumph and gave her jazz hands with a snarky smile, reveling in the young girl's amazed expression. " _Magic_."

...

Frigga was proud to have convinced Odin to set Volla free. She had never once harmed Asgard in her 500 year stay and finally he was beginning to trust that she would not overthrow him or leave his realm in a fog of ash and fire.

Trickling of water in the garden and the echolalia of shoes against tile seemed to irritate her raw senses after having her mind assaulted the way it was this morning. Every sense was startlingly intense. Volla tightened her hold on her pale violet shawl and bunched it over her ears to muffle the noise as they walked.

"Now, Loki is in class so you need not worry about that. If you sense a burning state coming on, call for either of us. One of us will answer, I promise." The auburn woman winked with a half smile. Volla caught the sense that Frigga knew she wanted to be alone. Before disappearing into green pixilated air Volla managed a broad, thanking grin.

For the first time in her life Volla was alone outside of the palace tower.

A whinny pealed out through the hollow building.

Like everywhere else in Asgard their stable had high ceilings and ostentatious brass frames to each stall that displayed a name. Taking one gloved hand, she slid it against the openings of each stall until she came to the other end of the breezeway where there was a partially enclosed pasture to the left. A herd of foals danced in the sweltering afternoon heat. Some of them noticed their new observer and were skittishly curious to explore.

A chestnut colt watched her wearily with his head lowered while a white one shoved his head through the bronze beams of the paddock into Volla's awaiting hands.

Tenderly stroking the velveteen muzzle of that colt had a perfect calming effect. Volla felt like a prisoner most days. No matter where she was, or what she was doing, there was always someone listening, hearing, seeing everything she did. It made her afraid to use the bathroom.

But this small horse, right here, right now: he was not spying on her. He and the pretty chestnut were enough to calm her wild senses.

This was an area just beyond the main courtyards. Frigga must have felt keeping her out of sight would be for the best and the company of other living creatures might dispel the loneliness. She was right. It was amazing how well she knew Volla.

Somehow this open area made her feel something she had never experienced before. A freedom she never knew. It smelled like freshly cut grass and the last warm days of summer.

The bronze colt was taking tentative, unsure steps toward her while the others squirmed and kicked up with high pitched squeaks and squeals as they searched Volla's long wine colored sleeved for snacks.

A giggle bubbled up from her lips. It was cut short when she looked beyond the far fence and came to an almost unbearable realization.

Oh, the irony of an Asgardian pasture.

Buildings and fountains surrounded the pasture on every side. They seemed to crowd the place, leaving it without the freedom she thought she had tasted. Perhaps she was never meant to know that particular flavor.

Volla's whole body deflated and sadly placed a gloved hand over the chestnut colt's muzzle, which seemed to dispel some of the gloom.

Volla disagreed with Asgard. Its entire existence seemed to be an oxymoron. Asgard was 'The Realm Eternal' with the most just and mild mannered creatures of the nine realms. Or so they liked to tell themselves. Yet somehow they were all roped and chained into an authoritarian dictatorship.

Odin held _all_ of the power. No one could stand against him. Even to think of standing against him was treason. Volla read in one of her Midgardian books about 'thought police'. To her this was a very real fear. Her mind had always felt a little safer than verbal articulations. She carefully chose the words she said aloud. Heimdal, The Gatekeeper of the Bifrost, was said to hear every word of every living creature. She was grateful that if he _could_ hear her thoughts that he did not make them known to Frigga or the Allfather.

For a large number of years Volla tried hating Frigga, but it was quite literally impossible. Even Loki, _Loki_ for mercy's sake, adored the Queen. The woman was just too damn wonderful.

Odin was easy to hate.

The chestnut leaned into Volla's warm caress with his brassy nose and breathed into her gloved hands. The gray and bay both had their heads extended around the fencing to nibble at the shawl over her shoulders.

Unless the horses learned to speak, there was no one around to tattle, so Volla lifted one leg over the first rung of the fence, then straddled the metal bar before ducking low under the second, bashing the back of her skull against it on the way up. With her hands rubbing the lump with a grimace, she popped up on the other side.

The small herd of young horses eyeballed Volla to decide whether or not she was a threat. The chestnut colt must have seen something he liked because he came first, bounding over with gangly, broken strides as if high stepping through mud. Another gust billowed over the loose violet shawl and twisted Volla's wavy hair. The chestnut's mohawk blew stiffly. The colt's shoulder stood as high as Volla's, and he was the smallest of the group with some growing to do.

"Tomorrow I will bring you treats, would you like that?" She muttered through a pleased smile as she scrubbed her chestnut's neck and withers. She didn't care that she looked insane speaking to animals. For the first time in her life she didn't have to worry about what she said to them. She didn't have to worry about being tricked into cutting off all of her hair, or washing her face with dye, or being misguided into Sif's room. Volla pouted at the painful memory. It was a wonder how a person could walk so unwittingly into Loki's illusions.

But for now she just enjoyed a gentle breeze and the smell of something aside from books. For the first time in a long while, she was alone with her thoughts. And there was something just so relaxing about that. Here she was free of judgement.

And free to plan her revolution.

...

"You're doing that wrong."

Loki froze. Green eyes darted about the grooming stall without moving a muscle. Had he been caught? There was so little time; he would never be able to finish this before being towed away to face his father. The young man gulped and slipped into his most innocuous smile and turned around with just enough innocent bashfulness to fool anyone.

But there was no one.

Loki's brows knit together and came to the unsettling conclusion that his paranoia was now personified by Volla's irritating voice.

He returned to the horse's saddle and continued cutting the leather strap with a dagger until it was threadbare. A grin of satisfaction appeared. Thor was simply no match.

Normally he let his brother get away with his endless avalanche of affronts, but not this one. Loki made it abundantly clear to anyone who would listen that he raised and trained this horse himself. And yet, as always, Thor managed to steal away Loki's pride by choosing Hiti as his mount. Loki was sure his brother would be easily deterred. In the case of decisions such as this, if something did not work the first time Thor tended to give up to find something more suitable. After throwing a merciless fit, of course. Falling to the dirt before his comrades would make quite a statement.

"I'm telling you, you are going about this all wrong."

Loki's nerves jolted. That annoying voice came again, this time from the other side of the horse. Loki could see a pair of tall black boots from beneath Hiti's slack rounded belly. He couldn't run without making a scene, so he quickly hid his work with an illusionary incantation just as a willowy girl popped her head around the horses rump, hand safely petting above the animal's brassy tail.

Lips pulled into a cautionary frown, Volla warned, "Thor will hurt him if you do it this way."

Loki glanced quickly to the colt then back to Volla, who for some reason seemed to think the God of Mischief needed advice on his namesake.

His left brow rose condescendingly, but before he could retort something snide, Volla clarified, "When the leathers snap, Thor will fall. Congratulations, Thor will be horribly embarrassed. But since he will not be able to _see_ the broken strap, and because he is a total boob, he will assume his horse dropped him out of aggression. He will blame Hiti rather than his own poor horsemanship, which will have rather unfortunate consequences for Hiti considering how immature Thor can be with his injured pride."

Loki narrowed his eyes at Volla, who narrowed hers right back. Volla had always been a pain, but she had never shared one of her visions with him before. A fake grin lifted the corners of his lips. Something about her was different ever since Frigga granted her the freedom to roam Asgard. She was a little taller definitely thinner, uncomfortably so. _Perhaps she is ill_ , he wondered absently. Her face had lost the soft roundness it once possessed leaving her jaw sharp and eye sockets round, leading to a thin nose and small, thin lips. She looked avian, in a sense; reptilian in another. He was somewhat perturbed that he hadn't noticed these changes sooner.

Laying a hand over the animal's tall whither, Loki corrected one thing: " _Mine_." Volla cocked a thin eyebrow at Loki. "Hiti is _mine. Y_ ou referred to him _Thor's_." Loki repeated more firmly. He was never one to share ownership. Volla hid her laughing smile poorly.

The young blonde took a step forward, maintaining the minutely raised eyebrow above one curiously bright violet eye. Loki slowly retreated away to the colt's front where Hiti gently whiffed at Loki's unruly black hair. The back had decided to frizz up in the early morning fog. Ahh, Loki's endless struggle with frizz was such a sight to behold in the morning.

Rolling her eyes, Volla used air quotes and a snide tone, "Alright, _'your'_ horse. Better?" Scrubbing her nails into the colts shiny golden auburn shoulder she explained her position more thoroughly, "Thor's riding style is too harsh for Hiti, he'll only hurt the poor thing. Yours is better suited for him." She trailed off with a slowly tightening expression. He recognized that expression of pain, but didn't stop her as she turned to disappear into the breezeway.

But then, realizing the danger of letting someone live after witnessing his plan, he grabbed the back of Volla's maroon lace collar and jerked her back, carefully not to touch her skin. "Death will be swift and painful if you ever speak of this." He threatened into her ear.

Volla twisted around and gave him the most dramatically unimpressed expression he had ever encountered. That said a lot considering he looked at himself in the mirror every morning.

"Shall I rue the day I crossed Loki Odinson?" She turned towards him and knocked a fist lightly to his armored chest, smirking. "Modify your mischievous schemes and I will consider your threat more thoroughly."

Loki's finger slid around the rim of her collar to the base of her throat. There his fist tightened around the fabric, twisting them into a close proximity. He expected her to try and escape. But she didn't. She didn't move, not even slightly. Then it was a battle of wills. Who would grow uncomfortable first? He watched the confidence in her eyes whither away.

Feeding off of this information his grip tightened more as a further threat. "No. You _will_ obey. Otherwise I shall be forced to kill you." Loki grinned at the unrealistic warning then added with a sigh, "What a shame it would be to lose yet another seeress."

The girl scoffed, then quieted quickly and leaned away from Loki's tight grip. She was only successful in choking herself audibly before replying, "Odin would sorely miss me, perhaps even go to war if you placed my body properly. Have at it if such a prospect is so enticing." She shrugged, which caused her to choke again.

Loki glared at the messy, curly, blonde braid with bits of hay jutting randomly that fell beside the collar he was clutching. Her thin lips tightened into a line and glared back at him. Loki thought in silence for a while, unconsciously releasing his hold on her. Volla was different. Something about her was vibrant, violent almost.

Strangely crystalline violet eyes jumped away, leaping from the colt's withers to the hayloft above then the ground.

He loomed over her, making her feel small as his eyes openly trailed over her face. She gulped and he smiled in a way that made her stomach twist into knots. He noticed this and took advantage, "Our seeress is a timid little girl, not what I see before me now."

The alluded compliment warmed the apples of her cheeks, but she refused to give in to him. Those green eyes were set in a way that she would recognize anywhere. She had seen him use them (failingly) on Amora thousands of times. Though, now she could understand how so many had fallen for that hypnotizing gaze. She hoped he could not read her mind, because he would have a whole lot of new ammunition to ruin her life. His high cheekbones were pale in color but it only brought out the animation of the verdant eyes that now searched her face, even dropping to her lips once. She felt her face threaten to warm up again, so she bit her lip until it hurt to distract herself. He observed her quietly in an unsettling way.

Then Loki oh-so-thoughtfully pointed out, "I also recall that our last _functioning_ seeress was stolen by a dragon. And you possess neither scales nor wings." He flipped a hand out before him to indicate her bodily form, "I am delighted to inform your blind self that you are, in fact, _not_ a dragon." A big fake smile appeared on his thin lips, causing them to almost disappear. "Happy days."

Volla rolled her eyes, "Happy days indeed." She gently moved out of his reach toward the gorgeous animal to her left, the shrinking motion looked natural enough. "More importantly, I assure you that Thor will have Hiti harmed if you go through with this trick." Volla shifted her weight until she was leaning on soft chestnut hair and began stroking softly with feminine little hands. "Such a waste of time. Think of all the training you've done to mold him into the perfect steed only for Thor to ruin him at the very last moment." She sighed an exaggerated sigh and smirked up at the big horse who now turned to look at her with one amber eye.

The strange amethyst eyes that sat deep in Volla's skull grew absent and her body stiffened once more, this time it was not due to Loki's intimidating presence. A vision suddenly overtook her sight. Pale faced and mechanical, she turned and strode away quickly, just barely slow enough to be considered a walking pace.

Loki was not sure what to make of the entirely bizarre end to their interaction. But he did heed the warning. If Thor killed, hurt or maimed Hiti in any way there wouldn't be a rock or cave for Thor to hide from Loki's wrath. Loki used another spell to rebind the leather straps, even securing them a little better than before, and made himself scarce in the hayloft until his brother could arrive with the party.

…

Tiny dust particles danced and floated before Loki's eyes. He frowned. Black may have been a bad choice for today. Streaking a finger over one black leather clad arm his eyebrows sunk heavily. A thin veil of light brown dust had fallen all over him. Even his hair looked slightly off color. He hoped that the morning mist would dampen the dusty barn enough that he would not need to bathe again, but he had the feeling he already lost that particular war.

"Soap is a friend, you should try it."

Loki's body stopped all motion. Volla was suddenly sitting beside him with a mildly amused expression.

Just before he could tell her to get lost she smirked and added, "You always seem so tough from a distance. Up close you're startled by everything. I suppose that is why you keep everyone at arm's length."

Volla felt like walking on needles, she was in for a world of hurt if she did not tread lightly. She was poking the monster and she loved it.

"I am not scared of anything, _Pita_." Loki's eyes narrowed, searching the finely dressed young woman. Before she had worn a lacy maroon shirt and brown tights, now she wore a tight lace sleeved, pale violet dress that ran up her neck and pooled like water over the edge of the wooden loft. She shifted one leg under her hips, moving slightly closer in the action. He naturally shifted away, feeling horribly crowded by her presence.

"You are enormously jittery today!" She eyed his reaction with a grin. "Prince Loki, are you afraid of me?"

"Again, I'm not afraid of _anything_ you little-" he was quick to halt the insult when he noticed Volla's expectant little smile. Loki hated doing the expected, so he took a different approach. He decided to be honest. "I just," he stumbled wordlessly the lifted a few fingers to his temple, "I have a headache today."

Volla's deadpan expression told him she wasn't buying what he was selling. "Ah, yes, _headaches_. The silent killers of all things courageous." Volla teased before slipping over the edge of the wooden loft, lowering until only the little dots of her fingertips were visible. Then she dropped with a hushed _plop_.

Loki leaned nonchalantly over the side to see where she had gone off to, but she was already gone.

The morning was slow, Loki read through two of his assigned books in three hours. Needless to say, he was impressed with himself.

Thor, Sif and the others would be there shortly if the busy state of the stable was any indicator. He watched the beehive of commotion from above, wondering what it would be like to see these people rushing to appease _him_ for once. Thor was the one they all concerned themselves with. Mostly because Loki was actually _appreciative_ of what others did for him. Thor was not so gracious, so they feared the repercussions. But it was not Loki's job to reprimand that oversized man-child.

"Volla! There you are!"

Loki heard the familiar alto of his mother and peeked over the edge of his perch to see.

"I've been searching all morning. If you are _trying_ to cause me gray hairs you have certainly succeeded. Now where are your boots? Or have you changed your mind about riding for Thor's ceremony? You fought my son so hard over it I thought you'd already be mounted to ensure your victory."

The rage he felt was as powerful as it was instantaneous.

She spoke with a graceful little curtsy and a humored smile, "I believe Loki would be overjoyed to ride his colt in my place."

If Loki wasn't sure he was imagining things, he would have sworn that Volla had winked up at him.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope you're liking it so far. So, my general thoughts are that she went from around 5, to 9, to 14, to about 16 looking over the course of this chapter. I hope I conveyed that well, because I'm not sure if I did. Let me know what you think!_

 _Thank you to my first reviewer and to my first follower!_


	3. Avaricious

Amethystine

 _Avaricious (adj.):_

 _The desire to possess more than necessary or needed; greedy._

* * *

"Please, Your Majesty-"

" _Enough_!" The auburn queen straightened her square jaw. Lady Saule cast her gaze down to the intricate gold lattice rug, ready for the queen's ruling.

She wondered if it had somehow struck a nerve that an Asgardian soldier had not only bedded, but somehow _impregnated_ a Muspel dragoness. Fear billowed within Saule as her anticipation came to a head. Coming here with her tail between her legs was disgraceful enough, but the idea of being turned away was simply inexcusable.

"You must return to Muspelheim." A poignant pause was the falling gavel of the queen's ruling. "To Svarog, your beloved king." The Asgardian queen lacked any harshness of tone as she regained her rhythm of speech, leaving little in her passive expression to suggest she might budge on this decision.

This was not what Saule had hoped to find behind Asgard's palace walls. Saule's vision was clear; if she did not keep her daughter away from Muspelheim the universe would fall in on itself during the next Ragnarok and all life would cease to be.

Refuge from her murderous husband was what she initially sought in Asgard only a year ago. This was how her baby came to exist in the first place- in the comforting arms of an Asgardian soldier. But now she needed refuge again, if not for the dragon queen herself then at least for her innocent daughter who squirmed against her chest, warm and soft and entirely helpless against the toxic wind of her home realm.

Saule ran a trembling gloved thumb over the sleeping baby's cheek, cautious not to wake her.

She looked like her mother, with scales rimming the sides of her face, but with soft humanoid skin making up most of her body. She had white wisps of hair only beginning to sprout across her soft little scalp. Saule tried not to smile at the sight of hair the colour of her father's.

Little Volla was not fully Muspel; Asgardian blood flowed through her veins. Her father was unaware of her existence. For his sake Saule sought never to divulge this information to anyone aside from the Queen of the Realm Eternal. More than half of Volla's biology was Asgardian, therefore she needed their realm's pure air to survive.

Muspelheim's atmosphere was made up mostly of hydrogen; only small sections of their world were permitted oxygen. These areas were sectioned off and hoarded by the king and his warriors. Muspel plants were few and far between; their soil was not made for nurturing life, but for sullying it. Molten rock and volcanic ash were unable to cycle the toxic atmosphere due to endless volcanic activity. It was a bleak, desolate realm peppered with the deep reds and flashes of yellow flames from their perpetually erupting volcanoes.

Saule closed her eyes and took another slow breath as she tried not to imagine what Svarog would do when he learned of her infidelity. Being a prophetess, Saule had seen this escapade going poorly from the beginning. But she couldn't avoid it, she knew what inaction would do to the future as well. Reducing her own suffering was not worth the fiery death of every person on Midgard. Her vision depicted her husband returning to Midgard to ravage their oxygen supply.

She could not see the future with definition the way her mother could. Aušrinė was unable to absorb energies from the surrounding atmosphere and produce a perfect vision. Saule was constricted by her limitation in that she could only see the decisions one might make toward the course of their life. She could not visualize the entirety of the future as it pertained to the multiverse, only the futures of individuals whose skin met hers.

A small throaty hum vibrated through the gold blanket swaddled around Volla. Warm heartbreak softened Saule's hard expression.

Frigga eyed the dragoness contemplatively, seeming to come to a decision as the young mother crumpled under her stare. "Volla is to remain in Asgard, indefinitely."

Reptilian green eyes rose, wide with surprise and awe. Frigga's were rimmed with lines of laughter as they always seemed to be. The two queens watched each other carefully. The Asgardian was clearly the powerhouse of the two. Saule tended to think herself tough, but a far superior woman with several millennia's more experience was showing her up with eyes that twinkled a smiling ambition. An ambition that Saule was not naïve to. She knew well that Frigga intended to bring a seer into Asgard's control. Little did the blissful auburn queen know, Volla was likely to have inherited Saule's faulty prophetic abilities and would be all but useless to Asgard.

"My lady, what of Svarog-" Saule suddenly heard herself begin to say.

"Hush your foolish mouth Saule!" Frigga's laugh tintinabulated lightly across the cavernous golden walls of the meeting room. "What would you say to a glass of red wine to celebrate?"

Saule, Queen of Muspelheim, Stolen Prophetess, _Bastard of Fire's Blood_ , blinked solidly twice to ensure she was not in some cruel dream. "Celebrate what, my queen?" Saule held out her hand as a maid adorned in pallid gold pressed stemware into her grip.

"Never again will you call me 'queen' or Svarog will be the least of your worries." Frigga scolded in a smiling tone, raising a freshly poured glass of wine to touch Saule's with a quiet 'ting'. "To a permanent peace between our ever warring realms." Both queens took sips from their cups, though Saule found herself questioning the Asgardian queen's sanity. Dragons were not the most sane bunch. "It is so wonderful to see you here in Asgard, where your mother always wished." Frigga began with heartfelt conviction. "It is only right to see her wishes granted with her granddaughter."

The two drank in silence as the reptilian woman stroked her daughter's cheek tenderly. She was not prepared to say goodbye.

It had been a year since she was last in Muspelheim. It had been her goal since childhood to escape, but she would drown herself in molten lava before she ever brought Volla back there. The newborn's blonde eyelashes flickered, exposing reptilian purple eyes before fluttering closed again with a hum.

Saule needed to know Frigga's intentions. What if Volla became an item to be passed back to Muspelheim in exchange for some tepid peace?

"Asgard was always a realm of my imagination." She began, "In my father's eyes you were the great witch of The Realm Eternal, while to my mother you were a radiant deity." Saule smiled softly at Frigga's bashful reaction to the compliment. "I am glad to find you are something far better."

"And what is that?" Frigga asked with a joking lilt, still rosy from Saule's flattery.

Saule ran a finger over the small iridescent scales of her daughters face and spoke softly. "You are a fine mother of two endearing sons."

Frigga slowly rose from her spot on the red chaise and sauntered over to where the queen of dragons stood to gently pry the gold swathed baby from Saule.

Gasping tragically, Saule watched as her daughter's skin lost its beautiful fanning scales, morphing and changing until her skin was perfectly smooth, and consistently Asgardian. Saule could feel the pressure of vestigial tear ducts acting up against her eyes causing a slight ache.

"What did…?" Saule choked, wanting desperately to kiss her little girl's face just once more and see her future again to assure herself this was the right choice. She was past the point of no return.

The powerful queen of Asgard cooed to the little child in her arms, rocking as all mothers do. "Just a bit of magic to keep her safe from the closed minded."

Saule's eyes did not deviate from Frigga's as she spoke, not even her pupils moved, losing all sense of integrity or regality as she sobbed tearlessly. "One day my son, or Svarog, will try to repossess her. You must not allow them to command the future. Surtur is a cruel boy tainted by his father's hate." Her expression grew tight. "Promise me."

Frigga nodded her head slowly in agreement. The queen of dragons seemed satisfied; allowing her gaze to drop back to the small creature nestled in Frigga's arms.

Then, Frigga went on with the carefree air she always carried. "Now Genjune, what is this I hear of my boys peeping on the ladies' bath under your care..."

Saule watched the seasoned mother rock Volla ever so gently, moving and stopping at the right times to keep her from fussing. Volla would be well cared for, and well loved. Even after her mother's untimely death.

...

The rumbling bromide of Odin's fury echoed throughout the cavernous walls, even thundering into the hallway where Thor ushered his smaller brother through the doorway of their shared room. It was best to avoid Odin when he was like this.

"I will not hear of it!" Odin spoke emphatically, spitting his t's out in anger.

Loki only caught the ruffling of his mother's glittering golden skirt fluttering through the master bedroom's double doors before they were sealed shut. The shouts immediately silenced. The walls here, though they looked thin, were entirely sound proof. It probably saved the boys from severe psychological scarring in more than one way.

The brothers exchanged weary glances before racing to their room.

Thor built a slingshot on his bed and Loki cropped open a book against the wall, both pretending not to cast worried eyes at one another, then the door, as they both imagined the fight waging just one room over...

"No harm will come to Asgard." Frigga assured her bristling husband who stared her down from across their room. "Saule sought asylum for an infant, not a monster!"

Odin's deep, unfeeling tone paired with icy blue eyes chilled the air. "Asgard has no use for those creatures!"

Frigga's deep eyes flashed defiance. "Why, then, are we harboring the son of Laufy? Is that not how we came to find peace with Jötunheim?" The king huffed and held up a dismissive hand to prevent her logical reasoning from reaching his ears. The Allfather never easily deterred the queen. "Volla is the child of Asgard's finest warrior." She assured, clasping her hands together at her waist, "Through blood alone she is more Asgardian than Muspel."

"Loki is our son and our charge. Queen Saule's infidelities are Svarog's." Odin faced her, loose fists at his sides moving in twitching circles to keep his thoughts in order. The thick, gruff man stroked his greying brown beard.

It was well known to the realm that Odin had trouble confronting Frigga with his more questionable decisions. She always had a way of forcing him to see a situation another way, many times in a way he did not wish to see.

The argument bore on for hours. Frigga made her husband see reason with one teensy little catch. It was only a small incentive to keep her husband happy with the arrangement until she could find a loophole in her promise.

"…Saule has the gift of sight." Frigga started, the small sharpening of her husband's eyes made her smile. She had Odin in the palm of her hand. "It is quite possible little Volla inherited this trait. What a waste it would be to cast out such a gift..."

The moment those blue orbs trained on Frigga's face tenderly, searchingly, she knew the argument was won.

...

Fire sprouted up green from a bed sized basin before glittering into yellow then the natural color array of fire. The ruddy brown and red monster that appeared in the flames was nothing short of terrifying. Was Odin not accustomed to such beings he may have been taken back by the creature's appearance.

Ruched, long pointed horns grew from four distinct areas along the sides of his elongated rostrum. Those deep red scales were large and squared off like the shingles of a house, and perhaps they were even a similar size. Many of his scales were jutting and broken from thousands of millennia of warfare over air. He was one of the ancient souls of the universe; many came to know him as The Lord of Fire, or of evil. Odin preferred to call him Svarog, King of Muspelheim.

"It is unlike you to meet by such cowardly means Allfather." A deep gravely voice that could only be described as reptilian emanated from all around, his whiplike tail circling slowly in the background of the image.

Odin did not see his wariness toward the monster as cowardly, but as proof of his superior intellect. Though the monster called him dishonorable, Odin knew he would be killed during any conversations of peace with Svarog.

The voice rattled through the walls again, tauntingly low, with distain laced in each heavily accented syllable. "Asgard has something of mine. Muspelheim tolerates the self proclaimed superiority of Asgard, but I— we— will not tolerate an affront of this measure." He spoke slowly, placing importance on each and every letter.

"Saule is nowhere within Asgard's boarders. Heimdal is searching but it seems she has managed to disappear even from him." Odin assured the fire lord. "Let this not be cause for tension between our realms, peace has reigned for so long—"

"Your omniscient gatekeeper is blind to my mate?" Svarog's voice grew dark with contemplation. Odin's deep silence was his answer. His voice roiled, "Then she has died by Asgard's hand; an act of war!" The dragon backed away, extending glorious, glittering red wings to either side of his body. His long neck long coiled low and close to his chest, staring directly into the Allfather's eyes from the other side of the transmission.

No matter what Odin said, he could not relieve the brittle tension between their realms. Svarog wanted to fight, and he would have one. It was Odin's job to stave off this inevitable war for as long as possible, perhaps until Svarog died, or was killed by his own rebelling civilians.

"Asgard takes no responsibility for your queen's disappearance. What I have in my possession is far more valuable." Frigga walked into frame to pass a small child to Odin who picked her up gently from her arms. "Here is Saule's heir, a seeress; the last child born of the prophet's bloodline. A dragoness with the gift of sight." Odin spoke like a merchant selling snake oil. "Your child."

Odin watched Svarog do the math behind slit yellow eyes as comprehension dawned in his motionless expression, tightening the curled muscles of his snout to reveal pointed steak knife teeth. "And so the Allfather plans to use my offspring as leverage. Do not think me so foolish."

"I could crush her skull." Odin covered the small creatures face with his hand. The little thing hummed a scream, muffled then fading.

Svarog was silent for a long time, too long.

Frigga was disturbed by Odin's blatant disregard for Volla's life. Frigga hated the way he flaunted the baby like a prize before a dangerous dictator. There was no pause in Odin's threat; he would kill that innocent child as compensation for Muspelheim not to war with Asgard.

The dragon slid closer to the fire on his end of the communicator to get a closer look at the struggling infant.

Asgard was holding his offspring captive. The very idea of it made him want to kill every one of those foul mammals. Rather than explode into flames, he huffed, allowing steam to pass through his pores, creating a cloud that quickly faded as the mist evaporated into nothing. As calmly as his gravely voice allowed, he stated his peace offering, "In exchange for peace Muspelheim demands the child and replenishment of oxygen."

Odin balked at the brazen suggestion; "The promise of the prophetess's safe return to Muspelheim is more than enough."

After a glance at the crying baby, Svarog agreed reluctantly, wanting more to retrieve his offspring and the power within her more than pacifying his peoples' basic need for air. "We will come for her at day break."

The room visibly darkened with the amount of energy swelling in the surrounding area. Frigga did her best not to worry over the small delicate creature in Odin's arms as her soft crying suddenly cut into silence. The queen had to remember this wasn't the first time she witnessed an agreement like this, babies fortunately had the superpower to fall asleep when they are over stimulated. Frigga found herself feeling somewhat envious of the infant at that moment. If only she had the same excuse.

"Dragons will not set foot in Asgard for one millennium or your spawn will die." Odin enunciated through tight teeth.

Svarog's mahogany tail twitched. He was unused to being chided like a child by someone so small. The king of Asgard was only the size of Svarog's middle claw. After so much loss of life in the last Ragkok he could understand the king's hesitance, but he would not tolerate Odin dangling his child before his eyes like a carrot on a stick to do his bidding.

"So much distain," Svarog hissed, flicking a thin forked tongue in barely contained consternation. "And an excessive period of measure. Our word is enough."

Odin tightened his grip on the small infants face. Screams emanated through the hall, only muffled by the hand over her face. The Lord of Fire snarled, snapping his long-toothed jaws loudly. "Harm my daughter and my Varanus elites shall reign fire on your realm until there is nothing to show but grey ash."

Odin did not move, though he felt the strain of that threat deep within him. The Varanus Elites were dragons in Svarog's army who were permitted unfettered use of their limited oxygen supply, leaving them volatile on their most simple days.

Despite his pride, reluctantly, the dragon king agreed to the terms set by the Allfather. The life of his daughter was worth more than peace, sovereignty, or air. But he would come for her, as soon as the time was right.

* * *

 _A/N: There are two chapters this week! Please read on, this was a background heavy chapter._


	4. Alieni Appetens

Amethystine

 _Alieni Appetens (adj.): [_ _Latin] Covetous of another's possessions._

* * *

Here she was once again, staring at the wall as a set of five spindly fingers danced circles over back. Flat against the bed, her cheek squished into her eye. For one reason or another, she had always disliked pillows. They tilted her neck at a strange angle and didn't allow her safe passage into sleep. She could feel the energy of the man beside her as he slowly fell asleep.

How many years had it been? A decade? A millennium? How long had they kept up this distantly intimate relationship? Where neither spoke of it, but they both knew what had to happen. It was never awkward before now. Why the sudden change? Was it last week, or last year? Volla couldn't remember for sure.

But, the image was clear, or, at least, the _sensation_ was.

One night, who knows how long ago, Volla was half asleep on her stomach letting the frigid air of Loki's magic save her from a horrible scorching death. It was hypnotic as his fingers slugged slowly over her back in smooth circles, slowing infinitesimally until the whole hand lowered. That in and of itself was not uncommon, the poor man did had to sleep eventually. It was more the _way_ it happened that jarred her. Those long fingers slid along her back, curling gently over the curve of her spinal column, slipping over, then falling into the sensitive area just above her hip. Ever so sweetly he bagan running his thumb up and down her side, intimate without becoming invasive.

It was unacceptable. It broke their unspoken treaty. Yet, she couldn't speak of it. He would simply deny every word and make her feel even more foolish.

They didn't speak much for a reason. She was younger than him. _Much_ younger. It wasn't impossible to think she might want him in a different way than was acceptable. The sparse few conversations they had during the day were biting and sarcastic. The silence was never uncomfortable. But it was now.

The circles over her back grew lazy until spiraling into obscurity, again pulling to hold Volla close. His chest, covered by a thin green shirt, sealed over the curve of her shoulders delicately. She felt herself flare with heat and the hand jerked sleepily back into motion. She could almost feel the frustration coming off him. If only he knew how this all affected her. How much it ached her poor heart.

She couldn't help wondering if he knew that he broke their unspoken agreement. She had the feeling he might have right then realized. She wanted nothing more than to turn over and just talk. It could be about anything really. Speaking to him, no matter how biting, was always easy. Her wish was granted when she heard him stir.

"Are you awake?" A deep, groggy voice came in her ear, "You're hot." Volla flipped over, red faced, dragging every sheet from the glowering prince. He narrowed his eyes at her. Voice now crisp and free of the grogginess of sleep, " _Not in that way you ignoramus_!"

She said nothing as the blood drained from her face; unsure what was more embarrassing.

Pale fingers caught a few blonde curls right before her eyes, holding them the way barren winter trees catch snow. His brow furrowed gently before snatching her up in his arms.

It all happened so fast.

Suddenly her flesh was blistering and peeling away. First, second, then third degree burns came over her hands leaving them white. She was confused and growing weaker by the second. Why was this happening? He hadn't even touched her skin.

Loki jostled her around, but Volla's mind was gone. She cound't comprehend what was happening around her. Consciousness faded in and out. Images flashed through her head, fire, burning; the smell of smoke and death. If the images weren't enough, her temperature spiked, leaving her body flimsy as plucked daisy left to whither in the sun. Her consciousness faded and the last image she saw was of Loki's face drawing white as death.

A new image bruised over her eyesight. Blue skin with circular designs engraved into flesh, red eyes and a menacing grin, it seemed to materialize on Loki's face briefly before fading into darkness.

There was stillness here. Nothingness and emptiness. She felt herself being pulled silkily through the void, feeling nothing. _This must be what death feels like_ , she mused, allowing the darkness to caress her without a fight.

Then, a shock of ice against her heart caused Volla to shriek painfully awake, eyes wide. Steam fizzed from her pores and she clutched onto Loki's arms to fight him away, it was so painful! But he held her tight.

A loud crack came and the bedroom door split open. Two blonde men and an auburn woman spilled into the room. It was only then that Loki realized how compromising their position appeared. Volla was barely conscious on her back, Loki held her to his body with one hand pressed to her chest. Her knees were bent and parted as he braced himself with his elbow as his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up against his chest. It certainly did not help that he removed his shirt to use his whole body as a medium for his icy energy to pass through.

As awful as it looked, he did what he had to in order to get her heart back into rhythm. It had stopped briefly and panic set in quickly. He had never even considered her dying as an option. It never seemed possible until that exact moment. She was just another part of life, like an arm or a leg. Innocuous, really, but without one life could become very difficult to manage. Her hands were charred, as was the trace outline of his hand on her chest.

Loki lifted himself from their odd position and addressed his family and the guard, insisting that the burning smell was nothing to concern themselves with. Frigga didn't seem convinced. Thor cast worried blue eyes between the smaller, half-conscious woman and his calm, collected brother. He was always unsure of what to make of them, and this brought about a whole slew of unanswered questions. The guard, on the other hand, looked utterly rapacious.

Frigga ushered the two blonde men out of the room so she could speak to Volla and Loki alone. But, before she could get a word out, Loki started, "Mother, now, before you come to any false conclusions you need to know she's grown tolerant to magic. If this trend continues unchecked—"

Frigga smiled, ignoring her son's excuses, her hair falling in sleepy curls over her shoulder. "Volla has nothing to fear. It appears that this flare-up had less to do with her blood and more to do with spending the night beside a young man in his bed." The queen mildly reprimanded. Both mouths fell open at the accusation and Volla folded herself away from the prince.

Volla could barely keep from running away and hiding under a rock for the rest of eternity. She dared to glance at Loki to find him rolling his eyes.

"Perhaps it is time to consider letting Loki sleep _alone_." The queen addressed Volla then moved her eyes to a pair of wide green eyes, "And, my son, you need not fret over our seeress. She is far more sturdy than you seem to think. Unless, of course, this is about something more than the arrangement we've had since she was a child." Frigga let her words linger in the air and she soon left the two alone with a little smile without needing to go much further into her opinions on the matter.

The two watched the door swing closed behind the Queen with matching expressions. Neither could believe what they'd just been accused of.

"Well, that was awkward." Volla broke the tense silence. Loki laughed under his breath, unable to look at her quite yet. Volla's eyes dropped to her hands that still clutched his wrist desperately, char marks dusted the outlines of her hands on his skin. She unfurled her achy fingers and scooted back against the headboard.

Loki's eyes didn't deviate from a fixed position at something unseen in the dark. He was trying to sort through the whole occurrence. Something very specific was bothering him. He could understand his mother and Thor coming to inspect the sound of that bright screech. But why that damned _archer_? The way he looked over Volla like a toy in another's toy box sent possessive energy through Loki's stomach. What right did _he_ have over the young seeress?

Violet eyes watched him in the dark, hoping he might say something to alleviate the anxiety. He could feel the heat of that stare. It always seemed to perceive far too much. She could see right through most of his well trained expressions and cut right through the core of him. Right now hopefully she saw nothing more than the blank canvass he schooled from his features. Once he felt confident that his expression was solid he let himself look to her. But when he beheld the cream color of her barely contained chest his eyes snapped shut. Her silk nightgown was clinging to her body desperately and it made him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Shouldn't a girl your age be wearing something with a touch more modesty?"

Volla's mouth dropped open. Was he blaming her for the way their intruders took their situation? It wasn't her fault no one else was allowed to know about her condition! _Blame Odin you idiot!_ Words spun around and round trying to weave up the proper retort but her tongue was tied. So she did the only thing she could think of. She slipped from his bed, gave a scowl from the moonlit doorframe, and left him there to his own thoughts.

She'd be back. He dropped himself back into bed and propped his arms behind his neck. She _always_ came back.

...

The smooth lines of her back shifted closer to him. 4:45. He knew she was lying; she wasn't covered in blisters or cringing painfully. But he couldn't find it in him to turn her away, even in light of their incredibly embarrassing moment earlier in the night. Instead he watched her squirm into place in bed next to him with tired eyes. Her hands donned a new pair of gloves to keep her skin away from his and a fully sleeved nightgown that buttoned up to the top of her neck. He scratched light circles into her back as she fell back to sleep curled to his side, allowing him silence of mind for the first time since she left with that accusing glare.

The nights when she didn't appear were nights when Loki had to wander the palace. Eventually he would circle around until he was bound to find her door then peek inside to see if she was still breathing. Typically she was just sitting in the moonlight writing, or reading something in the windowsill. But he had to check, just to be sure. Not that he was worried. That would be preposterous. It was not that he was afraid that she had become afflicted in his absence, and certainly not that he feared his father might bargain her away to some distant realm. Or, that he would find her with Baldur, the guard that came to his door earlier in the night with Thor and his mother.

Again— _preposterous_.

That time of morning was a curse that followed him full into adulthood. Bedmates would complain and grew angry when he would leave them, still soft from lovemaking, to check on Volla. It was almost as if they were jealous. And they would be completely out of line for feeling that way. Volla was just a child after all.

Loki showed Volla how he could unlock any door with magic. Pride seeped through the bravado of his expression at her unbridled excitement. Even though he was trying hard not to, he ended up enjoying her company those early mornings, at 4:45, as usual. Sometimes she would talk to him, asking endless questions about magic and the places he had traveled. Other days she was silent. Either one was comfortably easy. The things he had to say genuinely interested her and he was one of the rare people she was comfortable speaking with. She was quick to ask questions of anyone, but meaningless banter was reserved for Loki and Frigga. It seemed that his mere presence alleviated her anxieties about being around others. She was soothed by his presence, both physically and mentally.

When this realization hit, his first foolish, _foolish_ instinct was to see what Thor thought.

…

"Perhaps your illusions are getting the best of you brother!" Thor was, as always, terribly insightful.

Loki deadpanned at the taller, broader blonde. "Your shining intellect never ceases to amaze." He rolled his eyes, "Volla has been behaving strangely."

The training ground was a beehive of activity. There were battles to be held against Vanaheim's latest enslaving race and Asgard swore to aid them in any way possible. Loki watched his fierce brother plunge tomahawks deep into the hearts of dummies.

"Such an imagination must be exhausting for one so small." Thor laughed deeply, throwing his head back. His slightly shorter, slimmer brother sighed; wishing he hadn't been naïve enough to think Thor would have something helpful to say. Thor's hand fell heavy onto his brother's shoulder. "Am I to believe the seeress of Asgard loves the god of lies and mischief? Surely you see the irony."

Loki watched Thor attack the large cork target with another axe, not bothering to correct his offensive misuse of the word 'irony'. There was commotion all around as arrows flew and swords clashed. There were many places Loki preferred to the training grounds. It was too hectic here. He preferred a more delicate hand in the face of combat where his brother, well, didn't.

"And if I recall properly, I think both of you seemed fairly comfortable last night. And that _scream_ of hers! ..."

He could strangle his brother sometimes. Loki was wondering when he would bring _that_ into the conversation. It took every bit of restraint not to turn his brother's axe into a mongoose.

Now that he realized how Volla admired him, it should have been apparent to everyone else.

Thor's blue eyes had dark lashes that accentuated the raw emotions that constantly flickered over them. Right now they glowed with contemplation, a rare sight indeed, as he realized that this was something his brother was confiding in him. Thor did actually give sound advice from time to time, one just had to catch him in the right mood. He was better at articulating emotions than any Aesir Loki had ever known. And then, just as he was about to say something, his eyes flickered behind Loki. An exultant bravado exploded into existence. "Lady Sif!" Thor bellowed to the approaching dark haired young woman.

Her hair tied back in a tight knot with a braided band of her own hair that fell in a ponytail down to the middle of her armor plated back. She had an elegant face that held strong intensity in her pointed features and avian grey eyes. She strode over to speak directly with Thor, pointedly ignoring Loki. He was used to this kind of treatment when he was near Thor, it was only when the two were entirely alone that Sif would force herself to converse with the younger, _lesser_ , prince. Loki barely noticed anymore. He had spent a thousand years with Sif and the others. Thor was simply a more likable person.

"Thor, there is something I've been meaning to ask." She asked with her slightly cracked alto voice, gripping the man's biceps to pull him along with her, away from Loki's vigilant ears no doubt. Her secretiveness piqued his interest more than if she had just spoken outright. Had she not pulled Thor aside to interrogate him about Queen Frigga's little seeress, Loki would never have thought to eavesdrop. Then he might not have overheard Sif's ridiculous plan.

…

"Lady Volla," Sif bowed her head lightly with a thin smile. Volla smiled back with finely disguised trepidation. It was rare for anyone to speak to her without invitation. It was said that she had an intimidating look about her, as if she might strike a person like a snake. It was a ridiculous description. Volla preferred to call it her resting bitch face.

Volla stopped dead in her tracks and tried to look natural. She was headed out to the stable to ride Hiti without Loki's expressed permission, maybe Sif was there to warn her against it? The violet eyed girl gave a creaky fake smile, "It's good to see you're well Lady Sif but must we refer to each other with such formality?" Sif's grey eyes seemed to lighten in color at the suggestion. Volla smiled, attempting not to bite her lip nervously at the unplanned interaction. If she knew she was going to be speaking with someone she would have planned a thousand things to talk about beforehand so she would not be left feeling so foolish and nervous.

The two walked silently, awkwardly, for a little while until Volla asked, "How is Thor? Healing well I hope?"

Sif rolled her eyes, leaning heavily against the railing above the training grounds, eyes eagerly searching for a particular blonde man. "He is this realm's worst patient. Would you believe he has already begun training again?" Both disappointment and hard relief seemed to flood her stature when she discovered Thor wasn't there.

Volla considered running away before taking Sif's cue to lean against the railing next to her. She had never experienced useless banter with the female warrior before. She was having a hard time thinking of what to say as she tried her best to focus her energy on not biting her lip or tapping her foot or making any stupid faces or tripping on her words. After giving a breathy laugh at Sif's biting tone Volla sighed and tried to cheer her up, "I would be far more shocked had he actually headed the healer's advice."

Sif smiled half-heartedly at her smaller companion before sizing her up like a piece of meat. Volla started chewing the corner of her lip until it was raw and bleeding. Then the beautiful warrior asked, "Have you considered training with a weapon?"

Volla's face screwed up unpleasantly. She was not fond of war; she was not fond of hurting others. So, no, she had never even thought to pick up a weapon. It would be of no use to her. Not yet. "Never. Afraid that I'm not exactly fit for war."

Sif's head tilted with curiosity, not really understanding the concept of pacifism. Volla explained, "I never want to hurt someone, so a weapon would be of no use to me." She admitted quietly as if the words would have her forcibly exiled from Asgard. "What made you want to become a warrior?"

Sif sniffed a one-chorded laugh before turning her face slightly, but not before Volla caught the pink across the bridge of her nose. Then it dawned on her. The name 'Thor' might as well have branded itself across her face.

"It was my dream to become the first woman in the army. This past year that wish was granted. Never have I been so proud."

Volla knew exactly how to goad more girl talk from the woman. "Thor was proud too. He wouldn't stop bringing your achievement into every conversation. I thought Loki might sew his mouth shut." It was a very real threat when Loki said things like that. They both tried to button their lips while laughing, creating silly sputterings and shuddering shoulders.

The training ground below was a din of activity. Fighters and students danced among one another like an intricately designed ballet. One god stood out among the others. A tall, platinum blonde man with a well built body and strong pale features. He dominated the field, destroying entire targets with arrow strikes and a smooth swing of his sword. He had a mess of blonde curls atop his head that swooped with his movement. He looked like a Grecian statue had come to life.

Aha! She remembered him! He was the one she threw stones at from Loki's window when she was young. He was also the one who came to check on her in Loki's room when she had that awful vision the night before.

Sif caught Volla's eyes and slightly parted lips and commented before she could manage to look away and explain her stare.

"Ah, Baldur. He is a fine specimen." The taller girl shrugged her shoulder against Volla's. She blushed heavily, realizing that Sif had completely misread her expression as one of interest. Sif continued smoothly, "He is one of the best loved warriors in our ranks. His skin is said to be entirely impenetrable."

Sif touched the back of Volla's shoulder, pushing her toward the stairs before she could protest. "Uh, um, S-Sif. I don't know if I should—"

"Let us introduce you two. He has yet to meet a lady worth his indulgence."

 _Oh Valhalla please no._ Volla tried her best to breathe and calm her shaking hands and to keep from losing the feeling in her face. She did not plan to talk to this many new people today. She was utterly unprepared! What would she say? What if he accidentally touched her skin? What if she fainted?! Oh, no no no. If Loki saw he would never let it go.

They made their way to the training grounds, Sif ignored her protests and stuttering complaints the whole way. The pair watched intently as the beautiful god moved gracefully across the field, correcting a man's swordsmanship then helping a youngster cock a crossbow properly. Sif gave a short wave and he raised his head to smile at her.

"Lady Sif!" Baldur greeted the brunette with a deep, mellow voice. His eyes fell to Volla apologetically, instantly recognizing her. Her face burned hot at the memory and her eyes dropped to the ground. "I'm afraid we haven't had the pleasure of personally meeting. I am Baldur the Brave." He lifted a hand expecting her to place hers on top. After glancing to her hands to make sure she'd remembered to wear her gloves, she obliged. Baldur provided the reward of a kiss to the top of cream colored glove. He seriously just introduced himself with an epithet. _Wow_. She was so embarrassed for him.

Volla blushed profusely. This was just awful. "I'm Volla, just Volla, please, no titles."

Above, with long legs hanging from the edge of a balcony, was a dark prince with green eyes pinned to his young friend. Hot resentment boiled through his veins when Baldur lifted her small, gloved hand to his lips. The warrior meant nothing by the greeting. But Volla obviously did not feel the same apathy. She blinked too much and fiddled with the edges of her gloves too frequently. She even stopped chewing her lip to try failingly to seem blasé as she stared his face with those amaranthine eyes of hers. Sif slowly inched her way out of the training area to let the two speak alone.

Posture tight with disapproval, Loki materialized before Sif, halting her steps abruptly. She gasped at his sudden arrival, stumbling a few steps backward before straightening a solid distance from the mischief-maker. He nodded acknowledgement toward her before allowing his eyes to flicker toward the upper level training area where Volla tried hard not to redden at whatever Baldur said. His eyes swooped back to the amazonian as if to say, _Seriously?_

Sif recognized that dejected expression. She smiled a little, ready to tease the prince. "Little Volla is not so little these days." She stifled a laugh as his irate expression hardened. Sif nodded lightly to the pair of blondes talking only a few hundred meters away. "And it seems she's stolen the attention of a suitable warrior." She noted she slight stiffening of Loki's posture and pressed on with a feline grin. Sif knew exactly what she was doing. It was as if his big brain clouded his vision when it came to Volla, so Sif decided to give them a little push in the right direction with the help of Thor. It wasn't one of Sif's typical proclivities to get involved in people's relationships. But if it forced Loki to quit chasing Amora, Sif was willing to do just about anything. "It would be nice to see Baldur finally settle with a woman. Wouldn't you agree?"

Not bothering to rise to Sif's provocations Loki watched Baldur gently stroke a curly piece of Volla's hair and smoothed it behind her ear. Smugness distorted Loki's features, much to Sif's dismay, as Volla jerked to an upright position, expression tight with pain. He'd know that vacuous expression anywhere. For of curiosity's sake, Loki produced a double to listen in on the conversation. What was _so_ interesting that Volla was not biting her lip?

Sif noticed his attention beginning to slip. "Eavesdropping is a terrible habit, you know." She teased gently, coming up alongside him to watch the pair of blondes as Volla appeared to explain something to Baldur. "You should be grateful! Rumors say that you've been trying to rid yourself of your little shadow for ages to devote more time to Amora's increasing needs."

Loki looked away from Sif dismissively as Volla ducked away behind a column, eyes wide and haunted ash she hugged herself. Baldur was left looking incredibly confused, eyes following where the girl had walked off to.

Sif watched in horror while Loki laughed hysterically as the shrinking violet was reduced to a wet cat and sunk to the ground, miserable and confused with huge eyes that begged for Loki to tease her later. Sif glowered at the prince and pushed past him to rescue her from certain death by panic attack.

Once she was far enough away, Loki decided to dematerialize his clone and listened to what his double recorded.

 _Yes, yes, Baldur's training was always impressive._

 _Mhm, of course, Volla has the most intriguing eyes in all of the Nine._

 _Oh, whats this?...Mistletoe_? _Now that's just silly._

A slow stretching grin upturned the corners of Loki's mouth. It was just silly enough to be true.

…

"My apologies Volla." Sif grinned wolfishly. Volla wrung her hands together and caught her breath. She smiled timidly at the slightly older woman, the tightness in her expression still remained form the harrowing interaction. Sif looked a little defeated, "What is it? Did Baldur say something to upset you?"

Unsure whether or not to tell someone, Volla sat up a little straighter and Sif lowered to a squat before her. Then, finally, Volla admitted something she had never dared admit aloud before: a person's foreseen death. "I had a vision." Volla looked to the ground. "I saw Baldur murdered." Volla spoke softly holding her hands slowly away from her face to stare at them as if it was their fault.

Sif rolled her eyes with a sate smirk. "Baldur is indestructible."

Volla was wise enough not to tell the details of her vision. Sif was right. She knew Loki better than to think him a killer.

...

Years came and passed. Through Loki's excellent example Volla had learned everything every person in Asgard feared. She learned how to read a person's face for fright. And more importantly, she learned what each of Loki's endless array of expressions meant.

His eyes were easy to read, even when his face, words and actions told a completely different story. She hated to admit exactly how much time she dedicated to the different states of his eyes. Like how they became dense and bright with elation when he was kissed by Amora for the first time. And then felt compelled to tell Volla every last detail. Or how they would become molten puddles of green when he was brokenhearted, which happened far more frequently than it ever should have.

Loki had developed the highly detrimental habit of sleeping with women who were in love with his brother. Floozies would initially go after Thor, but when he was finished with them or found someone more attractive to fool around with. Loki would become their next target. Or means to cause the elder to want them back.

And Loki fell for it.

 _Every. Damned. Time._

"She's only looking for a lay." Volla cautioned with an air of nonchalance, filing her nails as she leaned against the wall next to Loki's bathroom door. He was readying himself for a festival. His armor was all polished and beautiful which highly contrasted with his face. He was visibly nervous. Picking things up that he didn't need then putting them back down as quietly as possible so Volla wouldn't notice. But she always noticed. He redid his hair a dozen times to ensure not even one curl dared show it's face when he encountered the object of his affection.

Amora, the goddess of beauty, had been leading him on for years. No, _decades_. A teasing kiss here and heated whisper there, whatever kept him hanging on just a _little bit_ longer. Then, as if Loki's heart didn't matter at all, the beautiful goddess would go off with Thor, or Frandral, or whoever else she fancied that night, leaving Loki with that lost-puppy expression that Volla hated so much. Amora's indifference made her blood boil. _Literally_.

Amora was the logos of beauty. White blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes that one could see even when sitting in complete darkness. Her lips were perfectly shaped with a deep cupid's bow and the color and texture of a winter rose. She was pale with rosen cheeks with dark black eyelashes. Her every move was pure elegance, each word was spoken with angelic fluidity, every kiss was another echelon of heaven.

Or at least that was how Loki described it.

Naturally, Volla _hated_ Amora. She hated how much effort Loki put into pleasing _her_. How much he cared about _her_ opinion. All of his affection was utterly lost on that fickle harpy. But, Loki was determined. If there was one thing Volla knew for sure, it was that Loki was dangerously tenacious and he'd sooner die than give up on something he wanted. So, instead of actively trying to keep them apart, Volla was resigned to inject her opinion into conversation as much as possible.

"How many times are you going to try and buff that scratch? It's not something you can- oh, never mind." Loki magicked the scuff away, shooting her a haughty look out of the corner of his eye. Volla rolled her eyes dramatically even though he couldn't see it.

Volla rambled on carelessly, trying to make him see how silly this whole game was.

"Who knows, maybe our dearest Amora will find Thor first tonight, or Frandral, or Baldur, or—"

" _Shut up_ _Volla_." Loki snapped at her, immediately regretting his decision when he remembered the helmet in his hands. He attempted to connect the two sections of his helmet alone but it was nearly impossible to do alone.

Volla sat there and filed her nails condescendingly (if that's even possible) taking the time to extend her hand to observe how handy she was with a buffing board. The clanking of metal in the background was music to her ears, only stealing a glance at the struggling prince every once in a while to decide if this was retribution enough for his rudeness.

Half of the helmet clanked to the ground. He closed his eyes and tried not to curse before bending at the waist to pick it up.

 _Nope, not yet_. Smiling like an imp, Volla continued working her cuticles until they were perfect, humming a tune to drown out Loki's exasperated groans and self-depreciating scoffs at the offending metal.

When Volla looked again up she saw Loki silently watching himself in the mirror.

Propping himself up against the vanity with his hands, he gazed at his face, comparing his features to his brother's. He hated his pale skin. He hated his nonexistent facial hair. He hated his wild curls. He hated his slender build. The worst part was that he could not change the way he looked no matter how hard he tried. And oh how he had tried.

Volla felt her heart lurch when he asked his reflection softly, "Do you really think she will reject me again?"

The mirror did not give him the answer he wanted. Instead Volla appeared in the reflection behind him, gloves back in place. She reached around him and picked up the curved bottom half of his helmet. Loki took the noiseless cue and lifted the horned top end, resting it against his head. The second part snapped into place over the back of his neck. The blonde was standing in the reflection behind him with her lips pressed together, deep in thought. Loki regretted asking that question out loud. Now he was in for it.

"Yes, she would. Amora is manipulative and impulsive. She would absolutely go home with some other man if she so desired in that moment." Loki squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like to hear Volla's opinions on Amora. But, as quiet and socially awkward as she was, there was no stopping Volla when she wanted to be heard.

Quiet suffering pulled the blonde's shoulders down as her expression fell away from the reflection of his eyes. "Loki, you are my best friend and I want you to be happy. But you're making a terrible mistake. There are only so many times I can warn you of rapids only to watch you drown."

Loki turned on her, imposingly glorious in his shining bronze armor. Volla looked past him to the mirror's image of his back to remind herself that she was not supposed to think of Asgard's prince as 'glorious' or 'beautiful' or 'handsome'. Because he wasn't. He was callous and devious and nearly impossible to understand. He clasped his hands in front of him as he always did when he was trying strenuously to remain calm.

"What do _you_ know of loneliness? Count yourself lucky not to know the sting of a broken heart." His fluid green eyes were set hard as emeralds. Volla knew that expression and wanted to make his despair go away, even when she felt her heart falter and lower lip tighten at his careless words. She had never known loneliness? A broken heart? Was he _mad_? She was abandoned and given away by her own mother only to live in solitary confinement for the first five hundred years of her life! Towering above, Loki sneered. "Until your still-beating heart has been ripped from your chest you will never understand that I'm making no mistakes in my pursuit of Amora."

Volla almost choked. It was as if he was completely blind. She bit her lips together and decided that _now_ was the time to go and turned on her heel toward the door. She could watch the heartbreaking scene unfold from her tower window.

But she had to get the sunken, angry feeling off of her chest before stepping out that door. Her heart seemed to speak for her, turning only her face to look at him, "My life _is_ loneliness! You will _never_ understand the pain of watching someone you care about insist on this insane form of sadomasochism!" Tightening her lips to prevent the last biting remark from escaping didn't work as her chin quivered, her hands in tight balls at her sides. "You have meticulously, and successfully, scoured yourself of every friend you have ever had." She glanced around the empty room, knowing how Thor's room was likely filled with friends and comrades. But right now she was too upset with her oblivious, love-sick friend to leave room for his feelings. She gestured to the emptiness with a fanning arm, "Enjoy the spoils of victory."

Then, before acknowledging exactly how cruel accusation was, she rushed out toward the beckoning call of her room just a few towers over. There she could spend the next few hours debating whether or not to torture herself by watching the festival just below her window or to attend. She wanted to have fun, but she had such severe anxiety about crowds that she would never make it through the night.

It was a ritual.

First she would crack open a book and pretend to read but look back to realize that she reread the same sentence five hundred times and still didn't know what it said. It was in that room that she would cry into her pillows, sob actually, because she was utterly unloved, sometimes even intensely disliked, by the person she admired most.

This time it only took about twenty minutes to give up and throw _I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings_ at the wall and perch herself on the windowsill with a deep frown chiseled into her face. Her deeply masochistic streak had taken over and she suddenly felt like a massive hypocrite.

There she watched Thor let four young women use his arms as a bench as he lifted all of them at once. Volla rolled her eyes, her lip twitching to smirk. He was an insatiable show off.

Then there were Sif and The Warriors Three. Frandral broke off immediately to make nice with a pair of ladies drinking wine in the corner of the courtyard. Amora was one of them. Volla wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. Proud that she had been correct, depressed that Loki had already lost his chance and he hadn't even made it to the dining hall.

A tear or two leaped off of her face, barely even skating over her skin before exploding onto her lap. She sighed, not bothering to wipe her eyes though there were surely foggy grey streaks from her mascara. What she would give to be one of those pretty, dancing ladies down in the great hall. What she wouldn't do to be normal. If only she wasn't born with this curse Frigga and Odin had dubbed a gift.

She scoffed a laugh when she visualized the brunette next to Amora throwing her drink on Frandral just before it unfolded. Another image showed him leading both of the women back to his home, giggling like love struck fools.

Then there were images of Amora holding Loki's heart hostage when he would walk through and see her pressing Frandral to a wall in an intimate embrace. For once Volla wanted to make the prophecies go away, to make his pain stop, and to end her own suffering. But Volla was not destined for happiness. She only ever existed to be used by Asgard. By the broken system that made an unkind, callous man their omnipotent ruler.

A vision overcame Volla's eyes.

A burning fire overwhelmed the high spire of Asgard, toppling the balustrade of surrounding buildings. Bodies of warriors, women and children fell as they rushed to escape the unyielding blaze. Fire and violent imagery flooded her head. She fell off of the window sill and cracked her head against the tiles, setting off another painful reaction. Heat burned her skin from the inside. She refused to scream, to yell, to show the pain. She would not call for Loki tonight. After all the effort he put into capturing Amora, he deserved the opportunity to try and indulge himself.

Overwhelmed and exhausted, she crawled into bed and oblivion pulled her into spiteful nightmares.

Yes, this was a gift that just kept on giving.

* * *

 _A/N: So, what do we think of Volla? I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


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